


Star-Crossed

by khaleesivero



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Chuck and Brenda are their kids, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, High School AU, I'll tag more as I update, M/M, Newmas - Freeform, Newt is his student, Newt is legal though, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship, Thomas falls for Newt, Thomas is a teacher, Thomas is married to Teresa, newtmas - Freeform, non-canon compliant, thomesa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:47:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 90,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7430969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khaleesivero/pseuds/khaleesivero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thomas' marriage with Teresa isn't what it used to be, Thomas finds that his rebellious student Newt might just be his true soulmate. However, their love cannot be, because Thomas has a family and a job to lose... Angsty romance because you know I love it, and so do you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The alarm clock rang. Thomas groaned into his pillow; after weeks of summer holidays, after sleeping at least until the kids were up, after a turbulent camping holiday with his family, it was now time to go back to school.

Blindly, he reached for the alarm clock to turn off the shrill beeping sound filling the room. His wife, Teresa, who had been lying next to him, immediately jumped out of bed - or that was what he assumed was happening; he felt the mattress shift and then heard a thump. His face was still buried in the pillow.

"Thomas!" Teresa chided, her voice travelling while she presumably walked over to the huge wardrobe that covered an entire wall of their spacious bedroom, looking for the perfect combination to wear at the office today. "Get up! The kids need to be woken up, or you'll all be late!" And with that, she opened the door to the bathroom adjoining their room to take a shower.

Hearing the water running, Thomas groaned yet again. It wasn't that he didn't love his job - he did, absolutely. He was a young and motivated teacher at 34, and he was actually excited to go back to school; he would be teaching senior English again, and last year's juniors were unusually bright - it was a promising outlook onto a year full of good work and interesting discussions.

It was just so hard to get up that early.

Yawning, Thomas dragged himself out of bed and down the hallway to his daughter's bedroom. "Brenda, wake up!" he called, leaving the door open so the girl wouldn't go back to sleep. At 15, she was in a bit of a difficult phase, at times but as Thomas and Teresa had had her in their second year of college (what can you say - they didn't pay attention well enough), they were young enough parents to handle it. Unwilling groaning from the room told him that his daughter was definitely related to him.

His next stop was Chuck's bedroom, who, aged seven, was the baby of the family. When Thomas opened the door, Chuck was already sitting on the floor, drawing; the second-grader to be was excited enough to go back to school to set his own alarm clock. Thomas envied his dedication.

After telling the little boy to get dressed, Thomas descended into the kitchen and made to prepare breakfast; porridge and hot chocolate for the little one, coffee and muesli with fresh fruit for everyone else. It was curious how well their routine worked after weeks of relaxed mornings - Teresa would come down to have breakfast with them and tidy up while he took a shower, and then they'd all be ready to go. They really were a great team, and even though Thomas knew that his job was probably less stressful than his wife's - she was an architect and had her own firm - she never gave him the feeling that she thought that, helping with the kids whenever she could. Or at least she tried.

Preparing breakfast was one of his favourite tasks to do for his family despite the fact that nobody ever said thank you for anything because everyone was grumpy in the morning. Well, Chuck wasn't. Still - a chirpy pop song sounded from the stereo as Thomas cut up bananas and apples and a mango to go into the three muesli bowls and sipped coffee from his favourite mug - it was the one with all the Shakespearean insults on it; it wasn't exactly not-grumpy, but rather funny in an ironic way that made him smile throughout the foggiest of mornings.

Thomas was just setting the table when the kids came in, both already dressed, thank God. If only Chuck managed not to spill cocoa on his pants now, everything would work out.

"Thanks, dad", Chuck said, accepting the bowl of oatmeal his father had prepared for him, climbing onto his chair.

"Is there coffee?" Brenda yawned, shaking her bangs out of her face. Thomas didn't know what was up with the bangs and eyeliner lately, but he supposed it was cool, and anyway, his daughter should wear whatever she wanted. "Sure, honey", he said, pouring her a mug and setting it on the table next to her muesli bowl. He sat down and started digging into his muesli - he knew he would have to hurry to manage to shower and pack his things. "Excited for the new year, Bren?" he asked his daughter. Chuck was absentmindedly doodling on his napkin while eating his porridge.

Brenda shrugged. "I suppose so", she said. "Not for calculus, but I thought I might try out for the cheerleading squad." She rolled her eyes. "Since my dad is the one in charge of the drama club, I need to charm the guys with my other talents." She couldn't hide her grin, though - Brenda was many things, but flirty wasn't one of them. She was more like her father - clumsy and adorkable. She wouldn't cheerlead if someone paid her to do it.

Thomas grinned. "Sorry, not sorry." He finished his muesli just as his wife entered the room, her hair dry-blown into perfection, her red skirt and blazer splendid. "Ok, here comes mummy, change of shifts." He got up, kissed Teresa on the cheek as she was passing and hurried up the stairs to get to the shower.

Their house was marvellous; built mostly of light-coloured woods and glass, it felt sun-filled on the gloomiest of days, and the open spaces of the living area and the staircase couldn't make you feel trapped even if you stayed inside for days on end. Teresa had designed it, and Thomas couldn't imagine a better place to live in the whole world. He dashed into his small library/study to grab all the reading lists he had prepared for his classes and threw them into his bag, together with his writing materials; he would only get the list of students from the principal later that morning. Having done so, he went into the bathroom to shower. Seeing Teresa's hair everywhere elicited a tiny sigh, but he was determined to have a good first day of school; he would clean after work.

Deciding that one-day stubble was a good look for him, he stepped into the shower, washed his hair, rinsed his body from the soapy foam and, a towel round his hips, went back to the bedroom to get dressed. A quick look at his watch told him to hurry, so he decided to wear jeans and a green polo shirt - it was still summery-warm, and it wasn't like Glade High had a strict dress code for teachers. Plus, Teresa always said the colour emphasised his eyes - nothing wrong with that.

Thomas knew that his hair would probably sport a Harry Potter-esque look all day, but he nevertheless grabbed his bag and keys and went downstairs. His wife was already wearing shoes and kissing their kids goodbye - standing next to their daughter, he was yet again struck by how similar they looked - the same brown hair, blue eyes, pale skin, slender frame. 

"Have a good day, Brenda", Teresa said, and, ruffling the little one's hair, added "You too, Chuck!" Then she touched her husband's back (because he was presently tying his shoe laces): "Bye, babe, have a good one, I'll be back for dinner."

"Bye, honey", he called after her, but Teresa was already gone. Standing up straight, he looked at his children. "Okay, team", he said, "shoes on and let's go!"

As he started the car a few minutes later, he felt the excitement at starting yet another school year hit him with new force while his teenager daughter changed the radio station to put on some hideous pop song and his son sang along to highly inappropriate lyrics without seemingly knowing what exactly he was singing. He was excited for new students, new books, for putting on a new play with the drama club. And he had a feeling that this was going to be a good year.

...

They dropped Chuck off at school - he insisted that he was big enough to go in alone; after all, all the other kids did, too - and then sped towards the local high school. Glade High wasn't a particularly huge school, but as the building came into view, it seemed big to Thomas after weeks of not coming here, all the same.

"Dad, do you remember our deal?" Brenda asked, glancing up from her phone and over at her driving father.

Thomas sighed. "Sure. You jump out at the stop sign, I park the car as away from the curb as I possibly can, I don't say hi in the hallway unless you do so first, you get home by yourself. Have I forgotten anything?" The bargain had felt harsh at first, but secretly he understood why Brenda needed her freedom - he didn't want to be the dad who spoiled her having hot dates with sixteen year-old boys. Not that he wanted her to have hot dates at all - but at least Brenda knew how to use condoms properly; they had made sure to teach her that before her first day of high school. Not a pleasant memory, come to think of it.

"No, that's fine." The girl smiled. "Thanks, dad. Have a good day!" And as Thomas stopped the car, his daughter jumped out and made for the school without turning back.

Thomas smiled to himself as he steered the silver Ford into the parking lot and found a decent spot. As he got out of the car, he saw one of his colleagues - Rachel, Spanish - get out of the Fiat on his left.

"Hola, Thomas!" the young woman called out, smiling. Her blond hair was darker than usual, and she sported a serious tan, suggesting weeks spent in the South.

"Hello, Rachel" he said, rounding the car and giving his colleague a quick hug. "Cuba again?"

"Barcelona." The Spanish teacher grinned. "I know so much about European architecture now, it's amazing."

"Sounds like a brilliant summer", Thomas agreed, and as they made their way across the lot and up the stairs to the main door, Rachel fell into a soliloquy about Gaudí and how beautiful Europe was, deliberately leaving out some diving instructor called Fernando that undoubtedly had enriched her stay. Thomas envied her; after graduating from high school himself, he had taken a trip the UK, backpacking across it for four weeks and spending a week in London, watching two plays a day. It was then that he had decided to study English literature. How he would like to do something like that again!

"Thomas!" a voice behind them boomed. The two teacher turned around to see Minho - sports teacher and football coach - round the corner, passing girls' glances following him even before the school year had even started. Minho seemed like a sassy, ironic type of guy, but Thomas knew that he was a great listener as well, and maybe it was that mixture of sincerity and carelessness that made the coach his best friend.

"What's up?" Thomas said as Minho punched him in the shoulder and smiled at Rachel. "Trained for the Iron Man all summer?" He slapped his friend's extraordinarily big biceps.

"Shut up", Minho grinned. "Headmaster wants us."

"Alby?" Thomas was surprised. "Why's that?"

Minho shrugged. "He just told me to _get Edison_ and here I am. Let's not keep the man waiting." They waved bye to Rachel and made up the main staircase as students started to pour in from the entrance; it was twenty minutes to eight, so there was plenty of time to talk to headmaster and have coffee before first period.

"Do you reckon we're in trouble already?" Thomas grinned at his friend as they approached the office. It wasn't like they weren't diligent teachers - but they also weren't the most serious ones.

"Nah, we should be fine", Minho said. "He didn't look mad, just a bit... Solemn." Thomas nodded, and with that, they opened the door, accompanied by a soft knock.

Principal Einstein, or Alby, as they called him behind his back, was sitting at his desk, going through papers. He looked up at the sound of the door, smiling. That was a good sign, Thomas thought. "Edison, good morning, good to see you!"

"And you, headmaster." Thomas smiled. "You wanted to see us?"

Alby furrowed his brows for a second, then nodded. "Yes, indeed, sit down." The two men sat down, casting curious glances at one another; this formality was unknown to them. "So, what's up?" Minho asked.

Mr Einstein took up a pen and started playing with it. "We have a new student in senior year, Newton Isaac. He was kicked out of his last school - disciplinary issues, his mother told me all about it - and I've decided to give him a chance at our school. It's his last year, and it would be a shame for a boy that bright to drop out because of family problems."

Thomas nodded. "How good of you", he said, still not quite sure how any of this was of any concern to him in particular - or Minho, for that matter.

Alby nodded, obviously pleased with himself. "Yes. Well, I called you in because I think that this boy would extremely benefit from extracurricular activities, especially if those leading said activities are capable teachers - preferably male, as the boy lacks a father figure. The two of you are both young enough to relate to an eighteen year-old boy. I would like for you to maybe approach the boy if he's interested in your subjects." The headmaster looked from Thomas to Minho and back. Both of them nodded. Why not? If the boy wanted to do drama, his English teacher surely wouldn't stop him. And if he wanted to let off some steam - well, football would be good for that.

"Great!" Alby said, rising to his feet, and the two young teachers followed his lead. "Thank you for your time, dear colleagues; secretary Paige has given me your schedules already" - he handed them a sheet of paper each - "so you don't have to stop by her office on your way out. Have a good first day."

They said their goodbyes, but Mr Einstein was already back in his chair and studying some papers. The two men made their way into the staff break room, which was already buzzing with activity.

"So what do you think?" Thomas asked as he pushed the button on the coffee maker and made it hum to life. "Aggressive kid on the football team?"

"Sounds like a good option to me", Minho said, leaning against the counter. "If we can channel his aggression, he might be a great player. Speaking of great -" he lowered his voice, "Is it just me or is Rachel extremely fine this autumn?" That explained why his eyes were glued to the other side of the room.

Thomas groaned. "No, Minho, don't."

His friend looked away from the woman and back at Thomas. "Why not?"

The English teacher raised his hands in exasperation. "Because this is such a cliché - the buff sports teacher going after the hot language teacher? If you want to get laid, at least hit on the French assistant, she will be gone come summer; Rachel might be here for a long time."

Minho frowned at him. "Who says I only want sex?"

Thomas raised his eyebrows at him and said nothing, drinking his hot coffee.

His friend grinned. "You're right. I only want sex. Good thinking, the thing about the French girl." He grinned. "I hear she's only twenty-one. And the whole petite brunette thing - really hot." Minho sighed. "Don't you miss all that excitement sometimes, Old Married Man?" he asked, putting an arm around Thomas. 

Thomas laughed and shook him off. "Let go of me, touching you might give me herpes!" He grabbed his mug and his bag and made to leave. "I'm gonna go copy the reading list for the seniors. Loads of drama. They'll love that."

"Everybody does, except Thomas", Minho said, shaking his head woefully.

"Oh I don't mind the drama if it's Shakespearean", the English teacher answered. "See you later." And he left the break room.

...

As Thomas made his way along the corridor over to the language rooms, he saw a small commotion near the lockers. Two boys seemed to be having a fight, so he approached them.

"What's your problem, huh?" One of them, a tall blond, said, shoving the other - Winston, he remembered teaching him last year - against the lockers.

"Guys, guys", Thomas said, catching the blond's arm. "What's the matter?"

The blond turned to face him. Thomas had never seen him before - he would have remembered. He had wild blond hair that was maybe just a little bit too long, huge dark eyes that featured a defiant expression, and a handsome face with symmetrical features added to his tall frame. "Who are you?" the boy asked, and his accent was distinctly British.

"Well, I am Mr Edison, I teach English here", he explained, looking from the boy over to Winston to make sure he was okay. "And I would like to know what's happening here. Let go of him."

The blond looked him in the eye once more, calculating, before letting his classmate go.

"Now. What's wrong?" Thomas asked calmly.

"Nothing, really", Winston said, his eyebrows raised as if saying, _that dude's just crazy_. "I was trying to tell this guy that he got the wrong locker and he didn't take it very well."

"I recall you saying, 'Get away from there, punk'", the British boy said coolly, "and I will not be spoken to like that." 

Thomas sort of admired that attitude, even though it was quite idiotic. "Right", he said, "so it's all a misunderstanding. Each of you go to your own locker. And hurry up! Class starts in five minutes!"

"Sure, Mister Edison", Winston murmured, looking relieved that the incident was over. The blond boy, however, stared at Thomas for a few more seconds before glancing back at the sheet of paper he was holding, probably trying to figure out his locker combination. The young English teacher contemplated asking him for his name so he could keep an eye on him, but decided that he easily found in a crowd, anyway, and thus proceeded to his classroom.

...

There were already quite a few students in the room when Thomas got there. They greeted him enthusiastically, with real smiles on their faces, and he was once again happy to be back. Sure, his students wouldn't think so kindly of him once he would be handing out their first assignment, but right now, they were excited to learn, and that was good.

"What have you got for us this term, Mister Edison?" Jeff, one of his most engaged students asked as Thomas dropped his bag onto his table. He smiled at the boy in front of him.

"Lots of plays - quick to read and loads of excitement", he said, pulling out a stack of reading lists from his bag.

"Sounds great", Jeff's neighbour, a boy everyone called Frypan because of his love for food, said. Thomas smiled to himself as he organised his things; those two had saved more than one class discussion with their interesting thoughts, and it was good to have them directly in front of him.

Other students filed into the room, greeting their teacher and taking their places. As the bell sounded, only two spots were empty, and one of them filled a few seconds later as Gally practically fell into the room.

"Sorry, Mister E", he panted, "overslept." Gally wasn't that dedicated to English, but he was the star of the football team and since his parents had told him he'd have the grades to be allowed to play, he at least tried very hard.

"Let's not start the school year this way, shall we, Gally?" Thomas said, but not in an unfriendly way, which Gally seemed to understand, judging from the way he nodded and relaxed into his chair.

Thomas got up and leaned against his table. "Alright, people, welcome back for another year of English, which is, as we all know, the most important subject you guys have, because honestly, using your words is the most crucial thing you'll ever learn. Want a raise? You need to argue your case. Wanna get someone to do something for you? You need to persuade them. Wanna hook up with someone - well, you get the idea." The students giggled; they liked their young, energetic teacher.

"And this is why we're gonna look at some of the most important plays written in the English language this year, to see how people use their words, and maybe we can learn a few things from them. But before we get started, let's just see if we have any new faces..." Thomas grabbed the attendance list and started reading it out loud, smiling at the students who called out "Here!" and welcoming them to his class.

He was just about to call up "Gilmore, Beth!" when the door entered. Twenty-one heads turned to the right to see what was up, Thomas being the twenty- second person to notice that something was happening.

The blond boy, the one who had attacked Winston, was standing in the door. He was holding onto the doorframe with one hand, grabbing his bag in the other one. The stares didn't seem to bother him. "Sorry," the blond said, not seeming very sorry at all. "I got lost on the way. It's a rather big building." He only now met Thomas' glance, and recognition flickered across his face. "Mr Edison", he said, inclining his head. There was no trace of the aggressive behaviour he had displayed just minutes earlier.

The young teacher blinked a few times. "And who are you, again?" he asked, not exactly smoothly.

The boy adjusted his backpack that was slung over his right shoulder. "Newton Isaac", he said, as if he were certain his reputation had preceded him. Thomas pretended it hadn't.

"New student, huh? Take a seat." He gestured to the remaining empty space next to the window, and the boy walked through the room, doing as he was told. Thomas noticed that several girls followed him with their glances. He sort of understood why - even he had to acknowledge that Newton looked handsome, and he had one of those faces that, despite looking youthful, would have no problem sneaking into a nightclub if he put on the right attitude.

"Right", Thomas said, and the commotion died down, with the students' attention more or less shifting back to him. He read out the rest of the list, marking the unknown names so he would know the kids at least by their seats, and then put the sheet of paper away.

"Before we start, I want to remind you of two things. First, the school drama group, as always, is going to put on two plays this year, one in winter and one in summer, and I would like to remind you that the winter play is the last one seniors can participate in. I know that there are quite a few good actors in this class, so if you're interested, please come to the first meeting this Friday after school." Thomas noted Beth and Sonya glancing at each other in excitement - the two girls had never failed to audition for any play he'd put on and he had a feeling that it might also have to do with him - and Jeff noting down the date of the meeting. Both reactions filled him with joy; the drama group was one of his passions, one of the moments when he felt like his purpose was greater than preparing young adults for standardized tests.

"And on a different note, I wanted to remind you to check with your parents if you actually already own any of the books on the reading list that is being passed round right now", he added, handing the sheets of paper to Frypan, who took two and handed them on to Gally. "If I get any more angry calls from parents asking why I'm making their kids pay for books that they already own, I'll lose my faith in your ability to successfully communicate. So make sure you ask your parents and get back to me by the end of the week so I can order any books needed via the school account, which will give you all at least a ten per cent discount." Thomas waited for a few seconds. "Does everybody have a reading list?"

A hand shot up into the air, indicating an immediate question, and Thomas was surprised to see it belong to Newton. "Yes?" 

"Don't you think that reading three Shakespeare tragedies in the course of one term is a bit depressing?" the boy asked, his eyebrows raised at his teacher as he waited for an answer. Winston and Jeff turned around to look at Newton in disbelief, and Thomas almost smiled at so much loyalty.

"Given the fact that I put all of them on the reading list, I should not think so, no", he said, "but you seem to disagree?"

"I do", the young man said, raising his chin visibly. "It's just a whole lot of people dying, is all. What's so special about that?"

The students glanced back at Thomas to see his reaction. The young teacher leaned against his table again.

"You're right, they all die in the end. But that's not what still makes us watch and also read those plays after centuries. It's the emotions, the universal struggles the characters go through that still makes them relatable to us after all this time."

The students remained silent, and Thomas started pacing, like he sometimes did when he was talking. "Hamlet is torn by his own inability to act. Lord and Lady Macbeth have done something horrible and try to live with guilt. And Romeo and Juliet are in love, but mustn't be together. Couldn't those stories be set in any day and age?" He turned to face his class again. "Ever thought about how The Lion King is basically a newer version of Hamlet?"

"No way!" Beth called out, and a few other students shook their heads.

Thomas smiled. "Yes way. See - the point is not that they all die. Everybody dies at some point. But the point is what people do with their lives before they die. How they miss opportunities, how they regret, how they take chances. And that's the basic human behaviour that Shakespeare investigated so extremely well that we still read his plays today, regardless of possibly depressing endings." He glances at his new student. "Does that answer your question?"

Newton still looked unconvinced, but he shrugged. "I suppose I shall see for myself when I read the texts."

The teacher nodded. "In case any of you have questions on the texts, you are always welcome to see me in my office hours. And now let me just give you a short introduction to Shakespeare's life, and I promise I'll have a fun Youtube video about him tomorrow."

His students grabbed their notebooks to write down the biography Thomas gave them on the famous playwright, and the lesson passed without any further discussions about the appropriateness of his chosen material. As the bell rang, the students grabbed their things and left, saying their goodbyes over their shoulders as they went to their lockers. As the new kid passed Thomas, he called out to him.

Newton turned. "Yes?"

"Can I talk to you? It will only take a sec." Thomas was leaning against his desk yet again, a relaxed pose that he preferred when talking to students as he thought this posture to make the situation less formal. 

Newton nodded and took two steps towards his teacher. "You wanna tell me off for what I said?" Standing right next to him, he saw how tall Newt was - he himself was six foot two, and the kid was just about his height.

Thomas smiled. "Of course not. I just wanted to let you know that you're also welcome in the drama group. If acting is not your thing - we also need help with the scenery and the text adapting and such. It's nerdy, but good fun."

The same defiant expression the teacher had seen earlier this morning re-appeared on the boy's face. "Why would you say that? You don't know me." Thomas saw it in his face his features said - _You know I'm a trouble maker. Say it. Admit it._

Thomas shrugged. "You just seem to have the right amount of critical thinking, that's all."

That caught him off-guard. Newton's eyes grew wider for the fragment of a second, then he regained his composure. "Why, that's nice. I'm flattered you'd think that after I criticised your reading list." Thomas could tell he wasn't completely serious, but curious enough to indirectly ask about the incident. Also, he had to admit he kind of liked the accent - it really fit comments like that. He would have liked to know about the boy's family situation, but he had a feeling that Newton didn't talk a lot to people that he didn't trust.

The teacher shrugged again. "Criticism isn't necessarily bad, is it? What kind of teacher would I be if I couldn't justify my choices to you?"

The boy shrugged. "A normal one?"

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Well, I don't know what kind of teachers you've had so far, but be assured that you can always say just what you think to me."

Newton raised his eyebrows, too, and gave him a quick once-over. "I think you might not mean that." 

The young teacher met his gaze evenly, even though he felt goose bumps raise on his arms. Something about those boy's eyes unnerved him. He tried to stay calm. "I do. And I look forward to some lively discussions with you."

The boy eyed him a second or two before grabbing his bag; a nervous gesture, Thomas suspected. "I have to go", he said, before abruptly turning away.

And as Thomas watched, the boy disappeared into the hallway.

...

"So?" Minho asked as they were leaving the building together after the last bell had announced the end of the school day. "You think our trouble maker will make a decent actor? Because he is not exactly built to be a football player. He seems more like a runner type of guy. Which reminds me - you wanna go for a run tonight?"

Thomas shook his head. "I promised Teresa I'd cook a decent First-Day-of-School meal for the kids, which probably means they'll want to order pizza and watch Star Wars, but tomorrow works."

Minho made a gesture that looked like nodding and shaking his head a the same time, probably disapproving of tonight's plans and approving of tomorrow as a suitable substitute. "Right. And what about the kid?"

"I don't know." Thomas shrugged as he looked for his keys in his pocket. "He seems a bit defensive, which would make him an excellent Romeo."

Minho groaned. "Romeo and Juliet will be your play this year? Really?"

"Well, you could take the French girl to the show and let her cry against your chest."

His friend pointed at him. "Excellent choice of play, maestro." He played with his keys. "See you tomorrow. Don't eat too much pizza, you're getting fat."

"Says the guy who loves chocolate." Minho wiggled a fist at him as he got into his car, and Thomas laughed as he did the same.

Oh yes, it was good to be back.

As Thomas pulled out of the parking lot, he saw Newton, riding a bike along the road. Few of the school's students used that opportunity of getting there - and it fit his image of the boy - young man, really - perfectly. He seemed to be quite smart, and Thomas couldn't wait to see if maybe he could gain his trust and help him through whatever he was going through. However, as that was entirely in Newton's hand, he would just have to wait and see, and so he put the thought out of his head and contemplated possible dinner options for his kids as he drove home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brenda notices Newt, Teresa is always working, and Newt might be a hot candidate to play Romeo...

The evening turned out exactly the way Thomas had anticipated. He found his daughter reading on the floor of her room (good kid, always test-read the YA novels he planned on reading with the freshmen) and his son playing Lego next to her. After mentally congratulating himself for being one of the best dads in the world who had raised his kids not to be television-dependent, he knocked on the already-open door. "Hi team", he called, and both kids glanced up from what they were doing, chorusing "Hi, dad!"

Thomas sat down next to them, dropping his bag onto Brenda's fluffy carpet. "How was your first day back?"

Brenda shrugged. "Fine. I got the Rat-Man in calc, though. Sucks." Thomas groaned. He couldn't even tell her off for calling his colleague that - Jansen definitely looked like a rat. "I'm sorry, honey", he said. "Book any good?" he added, pointing to her book.

His daughter raised the novel she was reading, and Thomas recognised his own edition of _Sula_. "We're covering it in English. I got it from your library to get started. Hope that was okay." Her glance was a bit insecure under her teenage-coolness. 

"Course", Thomas said, because Heaven forbid he would ever chide his children for reading. He picked up one of Chuck's knights. "How was your day, buddy?"

Chuck smiled. "Fine. I was invited to a birthday party next week and I get to sit next to my friends. That's nice." He seemed so absolutely content that Thomas' heart did a little summersault. Nothing more beautiful than seeing one's kids be happy, he thought.

"Okay, family parliament", he announced. "Shall we make dinner, go out for dinner or order in? You decide, kids. Choose wisely."

Chuck was all excited now. "Oooh can we please order pizza and watch Star Wars?? Pleeeease!!"

Brenda was also enthusiastic about that idea. "Oh yes, dad, can we watch the old ones?"

Thomas smiled. "Sure. The usual? And dessert?"

"Please."

He got up. "Right. Meet you downstairs in forty-five. But only one film - it's a school night." 

Walking over to his study, he got his phone out to call his wife. She took quite some time to pick up, but he was used to that. "Hey babe, the kids want to make this a family-pizza-and-Jedi-night, do you want the usual?"

Teresa sounded stressed when she answered. "Oh, babe, no, I won't make it to dinner. You guys go on and have fun. I'll get some take-out on the way home or something."

"I could also order you a salad and some dessert?"

He heard her smile through the phone. "Just a salad. Thanks, babe, you're golden. I gotta go - bye!"

Thomas sighed. Sometimes, when Teresa had a week off from work, like she had had the week before, it was easy to forget that most nights were like this - she was stressed, home late, and he had to take care of everything.

Not that he didn't love being the cool pizza-and-Star-Wars dad. He did. It would just have been nice to share this with a partner.

Making the next call, he ordered two big pizzas and profiteroles at their favourite pizza place before walking downstairs to prepare the plates, bowls for popcorn and the Star Wars blurays. They would end up watching Return of the Jedi, as they always did, but he didn't mind. Chuck just loved a good happy ending.

...

The evening passed just as lovely as he'd imagined it - Chuck on his right, Brenda on his left, way too much pizza and dessert and a beloved classic on the screen. Brenda, having been his daughter for fifteen years and four months, could of course quote along, and even Chuck was doing a pretty good job of quoting Han Solo. Talk about offspring goals.

Afterwards, Thomas sent the little one to brush his teeth while Brenda helped him tidy up and do the dishes. "How was your day, dad?" she asked as she loaded the dishwasher.

He smiled at her. "It was good. Thanks, honey."

"Is it true that the new French assistant is this insanely hot Parisian girl? Someone said the coach mentioned it in practice."

Thomas groaned. "Oh Brenda, let's just always ignore anything the coach says about women, alright? He can be a bit degrading at times."

The girl grinned. "Oh, I know. I am still going to watch the try-outs tomorrow. They're always fun." She was silent, in a weird way, and Thomas glanced up from putting the remainders of the dessert into the fridge. "Bren?"

Was he imagining it, or was she blushing? "Dad, have you seen the new kid?"

Thomas had a bad feeling about that. "Which one?"

Brenda played with her hair, a clear sign that she was nervous. "Oh, you know, the senior? Blond, kinda huge, dreamy eyes...?" The blush deepened.

Newton. Of course. "Yeah, I've seen him, he's in my English class."

The look on her face was really torn between happiness and annoyance. "That's... Oh. So, what's he like?"

God, this really wasn't his area of expertise. He could be the fellow nerd, the fellow book-lover, the cool dad, but talking boys with his daughter? New territory. "He's really smart, I suppose. He might audition for the school play."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? Next week? Thanks for the info, dad!" She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "I'll go brush my teeth, too", she announced, almost running out of the kitchen before pausing. "Oh, and - dad?"

He looked up, repressing the urge to shake his head. "Yeah?"

She smiled. "Please be cool, like, in class? I'd hate him to think my dad was square or anything."

Thomas sighed. "I'll try."

Brenda blew him a kiss hand, and then he was alone.

Well, that wasn't exactly delightful. Of course his daughter would notice the one troublemaker he would like her to stay away from. Then again, there were enough boys in his school he wouldn't like to be his daughter's boyfriend. Also, Newton was eighteen - surely he wouldn't want to hook up with his teacher's fifteen year-old daughter?

Thomas finally put the dessert into the fridge. He shouldn't worry, he decided. Brenda would watch the auditions and giggle with her friends and go unnoticed by Newton. And everything would be fine.

On second thought, he got the rest of the dessert back out again, grabbed a spoon and a book and put it all onto the little coffee table next to the couch. After having put Chuck to bed, this would be his personal treat until Teresa came home. Because honestly, chocolate and reading after a long day was just the thing he needed.

...

Thomas woke up in the middle of the night, his neck stiff, his book on the floor next to him. Groggily, he sat up and went upstairs to check the bedroom. 

Teresa was in bed, fast asleep. According to the alarm clock on his bedside table, it was three in the morning.

He got under the cover and cuddled up with his wife, who stirred and turned to look at him through half-closed eyes. "Hmmm?" she sighed, making it sound like a question.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Thomas whispered, immensely tired and also a bit annoyed. He had waited up until at least eleven, or that was when he had checked his watch last.

"You looked so cute", his wife mumbled and curled up against his chest, already asleep again. Seeing her like that extinguished any annoyance he might have felt, and he settled into the embrace and closed his eyes.

...

"Alright, thank you all for coming!"

Thomas jumped up onto the stage of the school's auditorium and the sound of chattering voices died down. He scanned the room. At least forty kids were sitting in the front few rows, all of them (more or less) eager to learn more about this winter's theatre production. The young teacher smiled; it always filled him with happiness to work on these plays, even though they tended to cost lots of nerves and even more sleep.

Looking at the wannabe-players, he couldn't help to notice that Newton was absent.

The blond boy had been quiet during his lessons, but Thomas had always felt his gaze on him. Newton had been seemingly alert, listening intently and taking notes, all the while managing to look thoughtful, as if he internally questioned every word his teacher uttered. Which maybe he did.

"As you all know from the announcement, this season's play will be Romeo and Juliet by the great William Shakespeare", he continued, and excited whispers sparked among the students, which Thomas stopped by raising his hand. "I know that's all very exciting, and I also know that it features more male than female characters, but we can of course always cast girls as boys, so don't be discouraged, ladies", he said with a smile at Beth and Sonya, who beamed back at him.

"I also don't want you to worry about putting on a fake accent or anything. I know the language is old, and American English did not exist when the play was first written, but we don't care about that." A few students looked relieved at that.

"The auditions will take place on Monday after school. I want all of you to prepare a scene from the play - you don't have to know everything by heart, but you have to convince me. Please also think about what role you'd like to play. I know that many of you would want to go for Mercutio, but Benvolio or Lawrence are also interesting characters with great lines, and the nurse is a really nice role, too, as it brings comic relief. So please give it some thought and I will see you all on Monday. Any questions?" He skimmed the rows to see if any hands were raised.

A girl spoke up: "What about the art and music and everything?"

Thomas nodded. "Good question. The band will help out with the music in case we need live music, and the art teachers have again volunteered to help as well. In case you're interested, just approach Mrs Blunt. If you want to help with writing and directing, you just talk to me, alright?" The girl smiled and nodded.

"Alright, I'm excited to see your auditions on Monday, and I wish you a good weekend!" With that, the students broke into avid discussions and left the auditorium, some waving their goodbyes at him.

Thomas jumped off the stage and faced the now empty auditorium. He loved this room; they'd staged several noteworthy productions here, and coming here today had excited him immensely after all those months. He gathered up his bag from a chair and walked up between the rows of seats to leave the theatre when -

"Romeo and Juliet, huh?"

Thomas jumped. In the twilight of the rows of empty seats, there was a shadow, and the accent was undeniably British.

Newton stepped forward, his arms crossed, and he looked at Thomas in this even way that was extremely unnerving to him. Somehow, the blond boy seemed so grown-up, so settled, more than the teacher felt himself to be. To him, adulthood was still like checking left and right before crossing the street and then getting hit by a plane.

He regained his wits. "Too depressing for your taste, I take it?"

The young man shrugged. "I am generally not too big on theatre."

Thomas raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "And yet here you are."

The blond met his eyes again. "And yet here I am."

They looked at each other, and the young teacher felt goose bumps creep up his arms. Somehow, the situation felt inappropriate in a way he couldn't quite understand. Newton's eyes were still on his, and he looked as if he was waiting for something.

Thomas cleared his throat. "So, will you be auditioning on Monday?"

The young man put his hands in his pocket. "I might. I've never done it before, but why not. I mean, Romeo is a bit of a tosser, but he has this sort of longing that I think is actually kind of relatable."

The English teacher gestured to the doors, and his student fell into step next to him. "I mean, he practically ruins everything because he's stupid, but at least he can't say he didn't try, can he?" 

Thomas glanced over at Newton as they left the auditorium and he turned to lock it. "I see you've already read it?"

The blond shrugged. "I should know what it's about, shouldn't I? I can't get up on the stage and not know what I'll have to do. So yeah, I'm interested. Even though I think it's pretty clichéd."

The teacher laughed. "You and everyone else. But it's not called the greatest love story of all time for nothing."

Newton huffed. "Is that what people say? I can't say I agree. It's two stupid teenagers who just want to sleep with each other." He didn't even blush, even though Thomas felt a bit embarrassed. He didn't know why; loads of books featured sex, and he had always been against any for of censorship when it came to novels - shouldn't they prepare students for life, after all? But now, talking to this boy about sex, he felt, would make him very uncomfortable. Like it was too personal to wonder about the sex life of two fictional teenagers created four hundred years ago. He felt stupid because of it.

"Well, Newton, we will explore that soon enough", Thomas said by means of ending the conversation as they were almost at the staff room.

The young man's shoulders tensed. "Newt", he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

Newt met his eyes again - those huge, dark eyes really were something else. No wonder his daughter liked that. "I prefer Newt."

Thomas nodded. "Alright, Newt. I will see you on Monday."

The blond - Newt - inclined his head before looking him in the eye once again. "You will", he said, before turning his back and walking away. 

Thomas couldn't help but follow him with his eyes. His walk seemed confident, but also elegant in a way that told him Newt had a good feeling for his body. And still - something about that young man made him uneasy, and he didn't know what it was.

... 

As he left the staff room five minutes later, Thomas almost collided with Director Einstein. "I'm sorry, Headmaster", he said, holding the door so the man could enter the room, but Alby didn't move.

"Edison, good to see you, you're the man I need", he said, smiling. Mr Einstein was a bit shorter than Thomas, but he didn't like to feel small, so the young teacher slumped against the door. "What can I do for you?"

The director cleared his throat. "I thought I saw you before with Mister Isaac. What is your impression of him?"

Thomas thought for a moment. What was his impression of the handsome young man? "I think he's trying very hard", he said, hesitating. "He has a quick temper, but he is smart. In fact, he just went to the drama group meeting, and I think he'll take part in this season's production. I encouraged him to", he added.

Alby smiled. "Well done, Edison. I knew you'd be just the man to straighten out a troubled kid. After all, English teachers have so much intuition and all that." He laughed, and Thomas gritted his teeth behind his polite smile. He knew the director was more of a science guy, and also, Thomas was a huge fan of over-generalizing. Not.

"Yes, well, I must get going", he said, stepping away from the door and letting the director catch it with his foot. "I will update you on his progress next week if you want me to."

"That would be lovely, thank you, Edison", Mr Einstein said, inclining his head. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too", Thomas answered, and turned to leave the building. The headmaster could be annoying at times, and the young teacher felt sympathy for the students who had to frequently spend time in his office. He himself felt like a naughty schoolboy whenever he was talked to like that.

...

Since Teresa was working on Saturday, it was Thomas' job to look after the kids. He didn't mind; there weren't any papers to grade yet, his classes for the following week were prepared as of Friday night, and so he could devote his whole Saturday to being a good father.

Being a good father for him started with making a good breakfast, and so when his wife came into their bedroom to kiss him good-bye, he sat up.

"Do you think you'll make it in time for dinner?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning excessively. 

Teresa checked her reflection in the mirror. "I'm afraid not", she said, and honest regret was on her face. "We might get a new client today, and if so, I most likely need to take them to dinner to finalize any details - so I guess what I'm trying to say is: I hope not." She smiled at him. "I hope you have a good day, though. And I'll have time for you tomorrow, I promise." Blowing him a kiss, she left the room and hurried down the stairs.

Thomas smiled to himself. Teresa was still such a whirlwind. "Good luck!" he called after her, hearing a faint "Thanks!" before the door shut and his wife was gone for the day.

After pulling on some sweatpants and a hoodie, Thomas made his way down to the kitchen. Looking out of the window, he tried to contemplate whether this was more of a French toast or waffle day, and since it looked like it was about to rain, he decided to make French toast with cinnamon (yeah, maybe that was weird, but he thought cinnamon had a warming quality to it which they would need on a day like that). He put on his favourite podcast and started cooking, making not only French toast but also fruit salad, coffee and hot chocolate. Soon, he heard movement upstairs, and then he was joined in the kitchen by Chuck.

"Morning, dad", the little boy said, and Thomas bent down to kiss him. "Hi, buddy", he said as he turned back to the toast and his son climbed onto the counter, grabbing his mug of hot chocolate. This was sort of their ritual - Chuck would wake up in time to try everything, and then they would have breakfast together; Brenda would probably sleep a bit longer.

So Thomas took care of breakfast and the two boys discussed which Hogwarts house they would be in (Thomas had started reading the first book to him during the holidays and now they were almost at book two already).

"I wanna be a Gryffindor, dad", Chuck said, wielding a wooden spoon like a sword. "And be really brave and all. Do you think I can? Like you?" Thomas smiled at the wide-eyed boy. "You think I'm a Gryffindor?" he asked.

The little boy nodded. "Sure, daddy. You're so brave and help me all the time." He thought for a moment. "I think mum's a Ravenclaw, because she always works."

Something about those words hurt Thomas more than he would have anticipated. Ever since he had been little and son to a dad who was always at work, he had sworn to not be like that. To be present in his kid's life. And now, it seemed, he was married to a wife who was just like that - always absent.

It was true that Teresa hadn't taken a lot of time off from work when they'd had Chuck; it had been Thomas who looked after the infant boy. And yes, she worked long hours, and their little one only saw her during the mornings if she had a busy day. But hearing Chuck say something like that still bothered him.

He took a deep breath. "You know mummy loves you very much, Chuck, don't you?"

The little boy smiled happily. "Sure, daddy. Mummy needs to work a lot because she builds houses. You don't have to build the kids you teach, so you have more time for me. Yeay!" Chuck raised his arms to hug Thomas, who was very moved by those words. And in a way, they rang true.

...

Saturday passed comfortably. Thomas cleaned, read to Chuck, made lasagne for lunch and cheese toasties for dinner. Brenda went to the cinema with her friends in the afternoon, and the two boys watched How To Train Your Dragon. The rain was still drumming against the windows, and when Brenda came home, soaked, she fell onto the couch next to her reading father and stole his blanket and teacup. Thomas let her.

Both children were asleep by the time Teresa came home. She was grinning euphorically and, after kicking off her high heels, jumped onto the couch to Thomas, who barely had time to save his mug.

"We're building the new hospital!" she squealed, hopping up and down in his lap, her eyes blazing like those of the seventeen year old freshman Thomas had fallen for all those years ago. She hugged him, and her husband responded by hugging her back.

"Oh baby, congratulations! I'm so proud of you!" Thomas kissed her, but Teresa was too excited to not-speak.

"Oh my God, this is so exciting, I need to start revising on the plans first thing!" She jumped up again, on her way to the kitchen. "Is there food?" she yelled, already disappearing.

_Start revising the plans first thing?_

Thomas followed his wife into the kitchen. "Baby, you promised to spend time with the family tomorrow. You haven't seen the kids all week except for breakfast."

Teresa, who was rummaging through the fridge, turned around, her face clearly defensive. "I know, Thomas, but this is my job, and this is important, too! It's the biggest job I've ever landed. I need to do this properly."

He nodded. "I know, Teresa. It's just - Chuck misses you. Today he said you're working all the time. And he's kind of right. I'm not blaming you, it's just - could you maybe just take the afternoon off tomorrow? Play board games with the kids, let them talk about their week? Talk boys with Bren? And maybe, you know, spend a bit of time with me, too?" It sounded like pleading even to his own ears.

There was guilt in her face now as she closed the fridge without having taken anything out. "Of course, baby, I - " She paused. "I know I have a lot to do but... You guys are the most important thing to me. You know that, right?"

He nodded. Of course he knew that. It was just that it didn't always feel like that.

Thomas put an arm around his wife's shoulder and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I know. So how about I make you a cheese toasty and you tell me all about this new job of yours?"

Teresa smiled up at him. "You're a hot candidate for husband of the universe, did you know that?"

He smiled. "Obviously. So tell me, what kind of ghastly dinner did you have that makes you come home hungrily?"

The two of them stayed up late that night and Thomas learned all about Teresa's new job. However, as he turned off the light on his bedside table, he didn't fail to notice that Teresa hadn't bothered to ask about his day, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)  
> Please let me know what you think in the comments - I'm always scared you guys think I'm too hard on Teresa but honestly, I'm trying not to!  
> Loads of love and see you soon xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas casts a play and makes Newt his Romeo. Well, not HIS Romeo... Right?

Sunday morning found Thomas making bacon and eggs for breakfast while Teresa got started on her drawings - in bed, because a certain little boy had crawled in with them at about six thirty, demanding to be cuddling with his mum. Chuck had fallen asleep again rather quickly, as had Thomas, but Teresa had seized the opportunity to go through portfolios and plans the purpose of which was unknown to her husband. Well, they were for the building, duh, but the particulars of it all were lost on him.

Two hours later, Thomas witnessed the smell of bacon fill the house and draw his spouse and children to the dining-area table. It was a rare yet delightful occasion to see all four Edisons at the breakfast table, still in their pyjamas, eating in perfect calm and comfort.

"-and I'm trying out for the school magazine, mum, because dad thought it might be just up my alley, and he was right, the people there are all kind of geeky but ambitious, so I think I might just fit in, and I have until Friday to hand in my article, and then they'll decide!" Brenda was enthusiastically telling her mother about her newest aspirations while Thomas smiled proudly. His daughter was good with words, and he had encouraged her writing ever since she was a little girl, and while she had been too shy to try out for the magazine as a freshman, now, as a sophomore, she seemed ready.

"That sounds so exciting, Bren, what's the article about?" Teresa asked while buttering a piece of toast.

"I thought I'd write a book review. They have a review section and that's what I'd like to do most." The girl reached for the pan to help herself to more bacon.

Teresa smiled at her husband. "Well, she got that from you."

Thomas smiled back, but he was still upset that his wife hadn't bothered to ask about his week. While she was now listening to what the children had been up to during those last couple of days, she had yet failed to give him a decent kiss or her attention. Suppressing a sigh, he wondered how he could turn back time and have the attentive, loving wife back he'd had during their camping holiday. Well, he knew he couldn't, but that didn't make it better - on the contrary. 

It had started right after college - Thomas had worked as a teacher and Teresa had been busy building up her company, and they hadn't had a lot of time together. Still, Thomas had always thought that once her company was running, she'd have more time for him, for their daughter. His hopes had been disappointed, but when they had been expecting their second child, he'd been certain Teresa would have to take it easier. Well, she hadn't, and he had been the one managing the kids at home. He'd lost hope years ago that it would one day again be like it had been back in college - the two of them in a tiny apartment with loads of books and a baby, and Teresa's relaxed smile on her face, even though projects and Brenda kept her up all night. He was married to an ambitious businesswoman now, whose success depended on him taking care of everything.

Not that he minded. He didn't. He loved being a dad. He also loved being a husband, and being domestic. He just wanted to be more appreciated. But he didn't know how to tell Teresa that.

So Thomas did the dishes and reviewed his lesson plans and played Lego Star Wars with one child and discussed Sula with the other child and cooked lunch and did the dishes again before playing board games and doing the laundry and preparing dinner.

...

Thomas lay on their huge bed, waiting for Teresa to finish putting Chuck to bed. Brenda was about to watch the season finale of some show she loved, and she was already on the phone with her friends to live-talk emotions (had she called it "feels"?) about the plot or whatever, so it was the ideal moment for them to have a bit of couple time. Thomas had resolved that while a fight wouldn't make anything better (because he probably wouldn't be able to keep the words "I can't believe you're leaving me alone with all this - again!" inside), sex most likely would. It had been more than a week and he was quite eager to sleep with his beautiful wife, and when she came into the room, wearing a dress and leggings like she loved to on her days off, Thomas extended his arms towards her.

"Come here, baby", he positively purred, and a smile appeared on Teresa's face as she moved to the bed to sit on his lap and press a kiss to his temple. 

"What would I do without you?" she said as she hugged him, and Thomas pressed his forehead against her neck. "Pay enormous amounts of money for a nanny and a cook" he said, grinning. Teresa pinched him in the ear, and he laughed.

Thomas started to plant tender kisses on Teresa's neck, but as soon as he did, she moved away from him, getting back up. Startled, he stared at her. "What?"

Teresa grinned. "Just trying to stop this before you get your hopes up too high."

He lay back on the bed. "Do you need me, do you think I'm pretty..." he sang, but it only caused her to laugh.

His wife shook her head. "I'm sorry, baby, not tonight. I don't have time for this, I need to work on my project."

Thomas felt his eyes grow wide. "No time for sex? Oh come on, baby, thirty minutes to keep your marriage healthy?"

She laughed. "Don't look at me with those puppy-dog eyes, Thomas Alpha Edison! Once the project is finalized, you can have all the sex you want, I promise. But not right now." Teresa was smiling, but he knew it made no sense to try and persuade her otherwise. Not that he would have wanted to - consent was the most important thing to him when it came to any interaction between people. So he groaned and turned around on the bed to lie on his stomach and watch his wife leave the room. At least she had acknowledged how much she needed him for her life to function. That was something.

Still, he would have preferred sex. Maybe he didn't want to admit it, but it would be nice to feel wanted now and then.

Sighing, he got up to pack his bag for the following school day.

...

Monday wasn't too bad now that he was relatively accustomed to getting up early again - and Thomas was excited for the auditions to take place that day. He knew that the usual suspects - Jeff, Sonya, Beth - would be there, but it was always good to see new faces, and the young teacher couldn't help but wonder if Newton - Newt, as he mentally corrected himself - was going to participate as well. He would make a smashing Mercutio, Thomas was sure about that.

The lessons went by and he taught poetry, novels, and plays with probably even more enthusiasm than usual until it was time to go to the auditorium and meet the hopeful wannabe-actors.

He had asked Rachel and Minho to help him judge the performances - Rachel because she had minored in English and actually knew something about art, Minho because he was fun to be around.

When Thomas arrived at the auditorium, it was already buzzing with voices. Rachel was there, sitting a few rows behind the talking students, a copy of Romeo & Juliet in her hand, a notebook on her lap. It was good to see her come prepared - that made two out of three. About as good as it'd get, considering who the third judge was.

Thomas had a list of all those who wanted to audition; forty-three people had volunteered. This was going to be a long afternoon. There were more than forty-three students present, though - friends to support their classmates or kids waiting for band rehearsal were seated in the auditorium as well as his own daughter and a few of her girlfriends who just wanted to watch for the fun of it. He didn't see Newt anywhere. He would have to check the list to see if he was on it - he deliberately hadn't done so before; he really wanted to be surprised by the candidates and not know anything about them beforehand.

Thomas waved at Rachel before raising his voice. "Welcome to the audition for this term's play", he said, and a few cheers and nervous laughter filled the pause between his sentences. "You all know your number, right? Then I'd kindly ask you all to move backstage and come out when it's your turn. Break a leg, guys, we're excited to see you perform!" He started clapping, and everybody joined in just as Minho came sprinting down the stairs.

"Did I miss it?" he asked as he watched the students walk backstage. "Where are they going?"

Rachel giggled as the two young men went to sit next to her. "Don't worry, Coach, you've got forty-three soliloquys to look forward to."

Minho groaned. "Why am I doing this again?"

Thomas got out the list and his notebook, ready to take notes and draw potential plans for a cast. "Because you have a crush on Rachel."

"You b- I don't - oh, fuck off," Minho murmured, blushing slightly as Rachel giggled again.

Thomas grinned to himself as he checked the list for the first candidate. "Number one - Stephen Odell!" he called out, and an average-looking boy with sandy hair walked onto the stage. He seemed a bit nervous, but he didn't have the text in hands and looked them in the eye, which was a good sign.

"Hi Stephen", Rachel smiled, and Thomas couldn't shake the thought that she seemed to feel like the obligatory female jury member on X-Factor. He grinned again.

"So, what role are you auditioning for?" Minho asked, and Stephen answered that he would like to play Mercutio.

"Great", Thomas said and made a note. "Go ahead!"

Stephen's performance, his delivery of the speech "A plague on both your houses!", was nothing special. It wasn't bad, and he remembered all his lines, but somehow Thomas didn't believe him to be a young man in rage as well as mortally wounded. They thanked him, and the teachers briefly commented on his performance while Thomas took notes.

"He's a bit... He lacks passion," Rachel said, and the others couldn't have agreed more. Still, they concluded that he might be fine for a minor role.

The next few candidates were all right, but again nothing special until Jeff appeared on stage. Jeff, who might seem like a boy next door in class, was a different person in the spotlight. He seemed somehow surer of himself, as if the text provided a security that real life didn't have. The senior stood up straighter, his shoulders seemed broader, his chin was set in dedication. Jeff had played Professor Higgins in Pygmalion a year ago and done a great job, almost making the nasty professor seem likeable with his witty performance. Thomas expected him to be in the main cast once again this year.

"Jeff!" Thomas called out. "Good to see you! What do you have for us?"

Jeff smiled at so much enthusiasm. "Hi, Mr Edison, Mrs Adams, Coach", he greeted. "I'd like to audition for the role of Benvolio."

That was a surprise. Benvolio was the more prominently featured one of Romeo's friends, but Thomas had expected Jeff to be their witty Mercutio.

"Alright", Thomas said. "Whenever you're ready."

Jeff's audition was pretty much a given one. He played the scene where Benvolio explains to the Prince how Tybalt was murdered, and he seemed so absolutely vexed about the fictional death about Mercutio that all three teachers couldn't help but agree - the boy could play whomever he wanted to. "O noble prince, I can discover all the unlucky manage of this fatal brawl," he lamented, and it probably couldn't have been better, considering that he wasn't even a trained actor.

"Thank you, Jeff", Rachel said after he was finished. "I can't wait to see you act again."

Jeff smiled and bowed before walking backstage.

"That's your Benvolio right there, Edison," Minho said when he was gone. The other two nodded.

"Too bad, though," the English teacher said. "I would have thought him to be our Romeo. I hope we find a good lead, or else I need to try to persuade him to be Romeo. But let's see, we still have... more than thirty auditions left." He suppressed a sigh. "Next!"

Next on stage was Sonya - she had also acted before, and with her long auburn hair and dark green eyes, she was beautiful in a pixie-like way that was reinforced by her small and slender frame.

"Good afternoon," she said in her surprisingly dark voice. "I'm Sonya Miller and I would like to audition for the part of Juliet." Thomas nodded approvingly - he could already see her play that role.

Sonya started sitting on the edge of the stage, but during her soliloquy she jumped to her feet, giving her speech a more dynamic feeling - she really seemed like a teenager, eagerly waiting for her newly wed husband.

"Give me my Romeo," she sighed, "And when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun." A dreamy smile accompanied that wish, and Thomas nodded to himself. Yes, Sonya would be a very good Juliet.

The three of them thanked her and sent her backstage again. The auditorium, still hosting at least fifteen spectators apart from the teachers, was filled with hushed whispers of approval; Thomas could see his daughter and her friends bend their heads to each other and nod. 

"Wow," Minho said. "She was really good. Do you teach them to do that, Thomas?" He seemed seriously impressed.

"I try. But she does have a great amount of talent." Thomas smiled. "I think Juliet is a given one."

The auditions continued, and there were several promising performances. Aris, a junior Thomas hadn't seen before, auditioned to be Tybalt and convinced everyone with his performance that was filled with suppressed rage, and Beth seemed to be a good choice for the nurse - she had a sort of naive humour in her portrayal that fit the role perfectly. Thomas was positively surprised by the performances - he hadn't thought it would be that easy to choose actors, but Jeff, Aris, Beth and Sonya would make a brilliant main cast. If only they found their Mercutio and Romeo soon...

The first great surprise of the day was Winston. As far as Thomas knew, Winston had never tried out for a school play, let alone starred in one. But when he appeared on stage as candidate number thirty-three and acted out Mercutio's famous Queen Mab speech, Rachel and Thomas exchanged excited glances - he was exactly what they needed. His performance was mischievous and a tiny bit bored, just like a spoilt youth from Verona might do it.

"Thank you, Mercutio," Thomas said, and Winston blushed. "Thank you," he answered and hurried back behind the curtain. "Well, that's that, then," Minho said, and neither of the other two teachers had anything to add.

Thomas, not being able to constrain his curiosity, had already seen that Newt's would be the last audition - he had probably scribbled his name onto the list this very morning - and he was hoping that Newt would be the Romeo he had been waiting for. He had had no idea just how good he would be.

"If that's not our Romeo, then what do we do?" Rachel asked as number forty-two, a shy sophomore girl, left the stage.

"I don't know, ask Jeff to do it?" Thomas said, but he wasn't ready to give up hope just yet.

And then Newt walked in. He didn't say anything but immediately started his scene -the one where Romeo laments his fate of being banished from Verona. "'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing live here in heaven and may look on her - but Romeo may not" he exclaimed, running his hand through his hair, his grief almost touchable as he walked around, his pain obvious in those huge dark eyes that were glistening with tears. 

Newt didn't just pretend to be Romeo, but in that moment, he _was_ Romeo. All the anger, the frustration, the pain, the horror in his demeanour felt so extremely real and genuine to the audience. This boy wasn't acting, he was scared to death and sad beyond compare to leave his young wife. He had an enormous presence on stage, and Thomas found that he was unable to look away. At the end of his speech, Newt broke down, two silent tears running down his cheeks.

Dead silence filled the auditorium.

Then Newt looked up. "And that's when Lawrence chimes in," he said, perfectly casual, wiping away his tears and getting to his feet.

Thomas was too stunned to say anything. This boy, this young man, this alleged troublemaker was not only smart, but he was an incredible actor. He was the perfect Romeo. He had been so wild, so beautiful in his acted desperation. Thomas had never seen anything like it. He felt as if he'd been run over by a car, but in a weirdly good way.

Applause started from the rows where the spectators sat, and Thomas saw his daughter clap and beam at Newt, but he didn't mind in that moment. He was sure he looked just like her.

"Where did you - learn to do that?" Thomas asked, and Newt shrugged as if he hadn't just blown them all away. "I used to act," he just said, as if his performance had been nothing special.

Rachel nodded. "Why, thank you, Romeo, I think you should get started on learning those lines." The other two nodded, because Thomas was still lost for words. He cleared his throat.

"Could you please ask the others to come back in here?"

Newt nodded and walked backstage. Shortly afterwards, the stage was full with those who had auditioned that afternoon. Thomas smiled at them.

"Thank you all for your good work. I will have the list with the finalized cast up by tomorrow. The first rehearsal will take place on Friday. Thanks again and have a good evening!"

The students clapped and then jumped down from the stage one by one. Some left immediately while others found their friends and started talking to them. After a few minutes, the room was empty but for the three teachers who were going through the candidates again.

"So, Romeo and Juliet will be Newton and Sonya, and Jeff and Winston are Benvolio and Mercutio," Rachel said thirty minutes later, reading her own notes once again.

"And Aris is Tybalt," Minho added, always happy to help where he could as long as young women were concerned. "And Beth the nurse."

"Yes," Thomas agreed. "And we have all the smaller roles cast as well. The musicians, the pages - anything else?"

"No, I think that's it!" Rachel smiled and handed the list to Thomas. "There you are, Thomas - your cast. Now go and make a great play!"

The English teacher smiled. "Thanks for your help, guys," he said, and he meant it - they had been sitting there with him in their free time, and they had dedicated it to helping him.

"Are you coming?" Minho asked, but Thomas shook his head. "I'll go back to the staff room and drop my stuff and then hang up the list. You go ahead." And he grinned to himself as he heard Minho ask Rachel whether he could "accompany the fair damsel to her horse." If literature didn't improve his behaviour, at least it helped his vocabulary.

...

Since he had no child to pick up (Chuck was at a friend's after school and Brenda would rather walk than be seen with him), Thomas wasn't in a hurry. He got his jacket from the staff room, dropped his books in his classroom and went to the info board to put up the list with the cast for Romeo and Juliet. Feeling his pockets for his keys, he realised they must still be in his desk drawer and turned around to walk back to his English classroom.

The school was already empty; this early in the school year, there was no need for parent-teacher meetings, and most of the extra-curricular activities hadn't started properly yet. Thomas enjoyed the quiet of the place - he hardly got to experience it, and even though there was something eerie about it, he still liked the way twilight was silently creeping through the big windows, announcing that autumn was now well on its way and colouring the white hallway in a shady orange.

Walking past the headmaster's office, he saw that the door was open and the lights were still on. That was unusual; Alby should have been long gone, just like his secretary. Had he maybe forgotten to lock up?

Thomas took a step inside. "Hello?" he asked, but there was no answer. Suspicious, he stepped further into room, which seemed to be empty. A tiny noise alerted the teacher, and he turned around. And there, hidden behind the open door, was Newt.

Thomas stared at him. The blond hair was still a mess from the way Newt had pulled it during his performance, and it was a stark contrast to his black pants and t-shirt. It was almost comical to see the tall young man pressed into the tiny space behind the door, except that it wasn't. Had his star actor just broken into the headmaster's office?!

"Newt!" he hissed, his anger barely hidden. "What the hell are you doing here? And how did you get in here?"

The young man didn't appear to be sorry at all - probably just sorry that he'd been caught. "I was trying to get a look at my file, actually," he said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, while he took a step forward and pushed away from the door so it closed. "The headmaster tends to forget to lock up, you know," he added as if he needed to mention that bit of useful information.

Thomas just stared. "How - why - why do you even know that? Come on, let's get out of here before anyone sees us!"

Newt smiled confidently at that. "Oh, nobody will see us. It's just you and me."

It was true - the door was closed, and it was just the two of them here. Nobody would come in or see them.

Something about that sentence made Thomas' stomach flutter in a way he didn't understand. 

He still pointed towards the hallway. "Out." 

The blond shrugged again, then went outside. Thomas followed right behind. When Newt just stood there, the teacher beckoned him to follow. "Let's talk about this somewhere else."

They walked in silence towards Thomas' classroom, and Thomas was unsure about how to proceed. Should he tell Alby everything? They would kick Newt out, which would not only ruin his future but also the play - Romeo and Juliet without a Romeo would be a futile endeavour.

Once they reached the room, Thomas opened the door (it was unlocked - obviously, since he had left his keys) and pointed to a front-row seat. "Sit." Newt complied without objections while he himself jumped up onto the teacher's desk. "And now tell me."

The blond shrugged, his face still defiant. "I already told you, didn't I? I was gonna look at my file. The room was unlocked. No harm done." He just sat there, his limbs too long for the tiny chair, his arms crossed before his chest, signalizing him that he had no idea why his teacher was making a fuss. The crazy hair made him look like a younger, prettier version of Einstein.

Thomas threw up his arms in exasperation. "No harm done? So you think Mr Einstein wouldn't mind if I told him about your little expedition into his office?"

Newt blinked a few times. "So you won't?"

The young teacher stared. "Huh?"

His student smiled a tiny smile. "You said _if_ , not _when_ you tell him. Am I really that good an actor?" The idea seemed to delight him.

Thomas furrowed his brows. "Don't think I can't still give you detention for that." He sighed. "But no, obviously it's not in my interest to have you kicked out of school - at least not before you've played our Romeo." The teacher allowed himself a smile. "But I would like to know why you wanted to see your file. I might be able to help if you argue your case well." 

The young man sat there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking as if he were trying to make up his mind. Finally, he said: "I just wanted to know if there is anything about disciplinary issues in there." 

Thomas suppressed a laugh. That would have been more than adequate, given the fact that the student had tried to sneak into the headmaster's office. "Why do you think that?" 

The boy didn't look him in the eyes, just stared at his feet. "My transition to this school wasn't exactly smooth. I - I stopped going last spring and then flunked a few subjects." 

That was news to Thomas. He wouldn't have expected that bright a student to flunk anything. "Why did you stop going?" 

Newt looked up at him, and he seemed annoyed. "Does it matter? No. The only thing that matters if that can be found anywhere in my files. My mother is anxious about my college applications and I wanted to know whether there was a reason to be. I know she mentioned my... Phase when she registered me here. The question is if someone cared enough to write anything down." 

Thomas nodded. He understood that - and he also knew that no teacher, secretary or headmaster would have told Newt exactly what he needed to know. Still, this wasn't the way to handle a situation like that, and he needed to make his student understand. 

He jumped off his desk and started pacing. "Let's make a deal," he said, "I will take a look at that file for you and tell you what's in it. In exchange," he added as Newt was about to open his mouth and interrupt him, "you avoid any future trouble, and I mean _any_. Also, you'll meet me here after school every Wednesday so we can work on your attitude, and I promise to forget I ever saw you in that office. Do we have an agreement?" 

Newt stared up at him. "It's not like I have a choice, is it?" He sighed. "Why do you always have to pace like that?" 

Thomas stopped. "I don't know," he admitted, "I guess it helps me think. Why?" 

The blond looked at his feet. "Dunno, I thought maybe you wanted to show off how tall you were or something." He seemed to be blushing, and Thomas suddenly felt heat creep up his face as well. What was that all about? Had Newt just given him a _compliment_? 

"You've got yourself a deal," the student added when his teacher didn't say anything. His face was back to defiant, the suspected blush was gone. Maybe Thomas hadn't seen it right. "May I go now?" 

Thomas was still a bit confused. "Sure." He watched Newt grab his backpack and quickly walk over to the door. Not wanting to awkwardly look after him, he bent down to get his keys from the drawer. 

"Mr Edison?" 

The young teacher stood up straight and found Newt hovering by the door. "Newt?" 

The boy seemed a bit flustered. "You called me Romeo before. Does that mean... Does that mean I got the part?" His huge dark eyes glinted in a way Thomas hadn't seen before. 

The English teacher smiled. "Do you honestly think we clap for everybody around here? You were the best actor today, and of course you get the main part." 

A smile slowly crept over Newt's face, so perfectly happy and radiant that his eyes practically sparkled, and Thomas thought he'd never seen a smile as beautiful as that. He could tell it was a rare occasion for Newt to show his emotions so completely on his face, and he felt honoured to witness it. Again, there was a tiny pull in his stomach. Again, he ignored it. 

"Thank you," Newt said, and Thomas could tell that he really meant it. And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving behind a tired and confused English teacher. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this - I hope you enjoyed it :)  
> Still struggling a bit with the narrative but I hope it's coming along :)  
> I'd love for you to talk to me if you have any feedback - my tumblr is nerdylovelyme and there's always the comment section ;)  
> Okay so thanks again and talk to you soon xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho stages an intervention and Newt's detention ends in confusion...

Having promised Newt he'd take a look at his file, Thomas strolled into the headmaster's office the next morning to fulfil said promise. Alby was there, but he was alone and looked relatively relaxed with a coffee mug in his hand - perfect conditions, Thomas thought, as the headmaster smiled at him. "Edison! Good morning! What can I do for you?"

Thomas smiled as well. "Good morning, Mr Einstein - I just wanted to update you on the Isaac kid. He will be playing the lead in our winter theatre production." He had thought that that would be the best strategy - point out the Newt's potential and then ask about his background.

The headmaster beamed at Thomas. "Really? That's wonderful news!" The older man nodded approvingly. "I am so thrilled you got through to him, Edison, I knew you were a brilliant teacher." 

Thomas couldn't help but blush at the compliment. After all, he was a sucker for people praising his work, just like everyone else.

"Thank you, headmaster, but it's not my doing - this young man is just so extremely talented. Was there anything on his transcripts about having acted before? I swear, he could be going to Juilliard if his grades stay good!" Okay, so maybe that was a bit much, but the young teacher was sure Alby would swallow the bait.

The headmaster shook his head. "I don't recall that, no - but that sounds wonderful!" He sighed contently. "A Juilliard student who graduated from _my_ school! I am so thrilled! Good thing there are no mentions of any disciplinary problems in his file - we made sure of that. Wouldn't want to spoil a child's future because of family problems. But do encourage him, Edison, I'd love for the boy to get into that school!" It was just Alby's own ego and enthusiasm now, but that didn't matter - Thomas had learned what he had to know.

"I will," he said, inclining his head. "Alright, I should get going, headmaster, but I thought you'd like to know about this." He smiled again.

Mr Einstein nodded vigorously. "Absolutely, Edison, absolutely. Thank you. Ever so thoughtful. Juilliard, goodness gracious. Have a good day!" And the older man was lost in his paperwork again, muttering to himself. Thomas said his goodbyes, but he wasn't sure Alby even heard him.

Back in the staff room, Thomas got himself a cup of coffee, smiling to himself. So Newt had no mentions of disciplinary problems on his transcripts - that was amazing! He felt extremely happy on the young man's behalf; Newt seemed to want to make his mother proud, and that spoke of a good character. Whatever family problems he'd had, they wouldn't be standing in his way trying to get a good college education. Thomas usually wanted the best for his students, but for some reason something about this news made him want to run off to find Newt immediately and tell him. However, he would see him in private after school the following day, and the kid could at least worry for another thirty hours - just to make sure he wouldn't think his breaking into the principal's office hadn't been that big of a deal.

Still smiling, Thomas made for his classroom to start another day of teaching.

...

Thomas reached the bench only a few seconds after Minho did, breathing heavily.

"Well, Edison, you're in pretty good shape for someone who reads too much," his colleague acknowledged as Thomas reached for one of the water bottles they had left at their starting point. They usually ended their run with a sprint, and even though Minho won most of the time, his friend was never far behind.

"No such thing as too much reading, you should try it some time," the English teacher said, taking a big gulp of water before catching his breath. "It just feels so good to sometimes just let the body take over, doesn't it?" he said, putting one leg up onto the bench, softly stretching his calf muscles.

"That's what she said," Minho said, grinning at his friend as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

Thomas sighed. "You're twelve, did you know that?" He sat down, grabbing his water bottle once more. The bench felt cold against the back of his knees - soon he would have to wear his long sweat pants as opposed to the running shorts he was currently sporting. Autumn was approaching fast.

"Yes, on a scale from one to ten, shuckface."

Thomas laughed. "Touché."

Minho sat down next to him. He seemed unnervingly quiet all of a sudden. "I'm sorry, bro. I know it's not easy for you at the moment."

The English teacher waited a few seconds before turning his head to look at his friend. "What?"

The coach shrugged. "Oh, you know, with Teresa and everything... You're just under a lot of pressure. I get that. And sport really _is_ helpful."

Thomas' eyes grew wide. "Who said anything about Teresa?"

Minho looked almost entirely serious, which was a rare occasion. "You did - I mean, you don't, and that's just it. _I need to cook for the kids, I need to take Chuck to town to buy new shoes, I need to clean_ , but you never mention Teresa. It's like she's never there. I bet she isn't. So you're practically a single dad, and you never get sex. I'd call that a situation that is _not easy_." 

Thomas sat there, pondering his friend's words. "Well, she has this new project and -"

Minho waved his words away. "Edison, I've known your sorry self for as long as you've been working at our school, so about ten years. And in those ten years, you have always answered that _Teresa is stressed_ when I asked about her, and she is hardly ever around when I'm at your place. So that's nothing new. What is new is that it seems to stress you out as well. I mean, the holidays are barely over, you should still be vibrating from all the beach sex you guys had! But you're not. You seem stressed, and I'm worried about you. Maybe you should get a cleaning lady or something and make Teresa pay her. I mean, she's supposed to do half of the housework, right? Well, it's not your fault if she can't make the time."

Thomas contemplated that thought for a moment; it actually wasn't a bad idea, and getting a bit of help wasn't shameful, either - after all, he was a full-time working parent. Instead, he said: "I do get sex,", which was maybe childish, but he couldn't help it.

Minho snorted. "Please. I bet I get laid more often than you do."

"Because you don't function without sex, slinthead." Thomas raised his eyebrows at him.

"Oh, and you do, Edison? Doesn't seem like it. If I had a wife like that and had to let off steam by going running with my attractive coach friend, I'd be questioning the state my marriage was in."

That hurt. Thomas knew Minho hadn't meant it like that, had just been talking without thinking, but it still hit him like a punch in the gut. 

Minho looked over at him, and his eyes grew wide. "I'm sorry if I've overstepped my boundaries, but you're my friend, and I thought I should say something, you know?"

Thomas brushed it off. "It's fine," he said, even though it clearly wasn't, and they both knew it. "I have to get back," he said and stood up, and Minho didn't try to stop him as he left to get his car, not turning around even when he noticed that he'd forgotten his water bottle.

...

That night, Thomas kept himself busy making pasta for dinner with Chuck; that was usually a messy endeavour, and since he didn't want to think about Minho's words, it was the best way to keep his mind off their talk.

"No, buddy, that's too much filling," Thomas said, taking Chuck's hand and shaking a bit of spinach off his son's spoon. "That's enough, see? Otherwise the ravioli will burst and the filling will be swimming in the water, you know?"

"All right, dad," the little boy nodded and went on to put filling onto the little dough squares.

Thomas supervised him for another minute or two before getting back to making the basil-lemon sauce to go with the pasta. It was Chuck's favourite dinner, and they hardly ever had the time to self-make the ravioli, so now that Thomas was still free of papers to correct, he'd agreed to make them that night. Teresa wouldn't be home for dinner, so they'd have to make less than usual, but as Thomas looked at the dough squares he'd put on the counter for Chuck to fill, he couldn't recall the last time he'd actually made ravioli for four people.

And there they were again. Minho's words, in the back of his brain.

_I'd be questioning the state of my marriage._

Should he be questioning the state of his marriage?

Granted, he was alone a lot, yes. He wasn't lonely - he had two beautiful children, colleagues he was lucky enough to call his friends, a job he was passionate about, delightful hobbies such as the theatre group, reading, sports. Wasn't that enough? It sounded like a pretty fulfilled life. So what if he didn't see his wife that often.

_So what?_ That sounded as if he didn't mind. And mind it he did, obviously.

He missed his wife. He wanted to spend more time with her, talk to her more often, laugh together, cook together, make love to her more often. Sure, their week in August had been beautiful, but it had only been one week. One week of a taste of what it could be with, and then it had been taken away again.

So maybe he wasn't the happiest at the moment. But it could change again, right? It was just this project, and then he'd make Teresa promise to make more time for their family.

That sounded so horrible. _Make her promise._ It wasn't like he wanted to stand in her way career-wise, or hold her back. He wasn't jealous of her job, but he didn't want it to take up all of her life; teaching was an important profession, too, and he still made time for everything if he had to.

It was just so difficult to talk to Teresa about it. But he wouldn't say anything right now when she was so stressed about her project. He'd get through it. He'd have to.

"Dad, is that too much?" Chuck asked, pulling his sleeve when he didn't react immediately.

"Wh-? No, that's perfect, sous-chef," he said, and Chuck blushed with pride. And Thomas banished the thoughts about his marriage and went back to cooking with his child.

...

A knock on the door made Thomas look up from - finally! - correcting the first homework of the new school year. The Freshmen seemed to have a bit of a deficit as far as grammar was concerned, and he'd given them a few exercise sheets to work on. "Come in!"

The door opened and Newt came in, his obligatory backpack slung over his right shoulder. He was wearing dark jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt, still keeping to his dark dress code, and his hair was still a bit too long and dishevelled. "Hello," he said in a low voice. "Am I late?"

Thomas glanced at his watch. The last lesson had ended fifteen minutes ago, and he'd had time to get more coffee, have a quick snack and get started on correcting homework. "No, you're right on time," he said, smiling at the young man. "Come in. Take a seat."

The blond boy nodded and crossed the room to sit in the front row, putting his backpack onto the ground next to his feet. "What's up?" he asked and looked at Thomas with those huge dark eyes that reminded him of a doe.

Thomas shrugged. "Not much. Apart from the fact that the Freshmen have some problem with the distinction between you, you're and your." He sighed.

Newt snorted. "Plonkers. It's not that difficult, is it?"

The teacher laughed. "You tell me. Apparently it is." He paused. "Newt, how is it that you have a British accent?" It was something he had been curious about for as long as he'd known the young man, and somehow, the question just burst out of him that very moment.

The blond raised his eyebrows. "My accent? Well, my parents are English. We moved to the US when I was eleven."

Thomas nodded. "And why did you leave England? I mean, I've been there, and it's just... Something completely different than America."

Newt looked surprised, his brows furrowed. "You've been to England? Really?" he asked, ignoring the question he'd been asked.

The young teacher grinned. "Hello, English teacher and literature nerd speaking? I've wanted to see the Globe and stand by Byron's grave and all that." He thought that sharing things like that might be beneficial to their student-teacher-relationship; make them see you're only human too and all that.

If his pupil was judging him, it didn't show. "Good for you! I mean - I didn't want to leave, but my mother is a surgeon and they offered her this amazing job over here and that's why we moved."

Thomas nodded, signalling his understanding. "And were those the... Family troubles that Mr Einstein mentioned?"

Newt's eyes didn't betray any emotion, they just remained as cool as they had been for the entire talk. "You've seen my file."

"I have."

"Will you tell me what you've found out?" Again, not a sign of anxiety, just a lot of coolness.

Thomas tilted his head to the side. "If I do, will you tell me what you were afraid of being featured in it?"

Newt's eyebrows disappeared under his blond hair once again. "So there's nothing on my transcripts? Nothing bad?"

The English teacher shook his head. "You've got a clean slate, Newt."

The blond nodded to himself, a tiny smile appearing on his face, breaking his cool facade, and it made Thomas' heart beat faster to see him happy. "How did you manage to see them? Did you break into the office yourself?" The smile had turned ironic, but it was still beautiful.

"No!" Thomas laughed. "I just told Mister Einstein how extraordinarily talented you are, and I asked whether he thought that you could get into Juilliard. He said there was nothing in your transcripts to stop you."

Newt looked at him quizzically. "Juilliard? Really? You think that'd work out?" His teacher could see that he tried his hardest not to seem hopeful; apparently, unironic passion was still something Newt had to learn to master.

Thomas sighed. "Have you ever seen yourself act, Newt?"

The boy shrugged. There was something about his shrug - the way his head always tilted to the left when he raised his shoulders - that made Thomas want to smile. "No, they never filmed our high school plays back at my old school."

The teacher leaned forward. "Oh so you have acted in school plays before?" That had been obvious to Thomas, but somehow, Newt wasn't the type to hang out with the artsy crowd, he thought - he thought him to be more of a person who kept to himself, afraid of over-sharing.

Newt nodded. "Never been a main character, though."

Thomas shook his head. "Your teachers must have been blind not to see your talent, then."

The blond looked at him for a few seconds, scrutinizing him, and the young teacher had the feeling Newt was making a decision then and there. "My dad left my mum and it is was extremely difficult, that's why I stopped going to school last year."

Thomas knew that wasn't all there was to it, but he nodded. He'd never thought Newt would volunteer information like that this early into their detention-like situation. "That must have been really hard for you."

Newt looked at his shoes. "It was harder for my mum, but yeah, I'm glad the wanker's gone."

The teacher knew better than to point out the language in this moment. They were quiet for a bit. Then Newt cleared his throat. "So, this... Detention-ish thing. What am I supposed to do here? Aren't you going to give me something to do?"

Thomas shrugged and crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair. "What would you like it to be? Talk to me? Do homework? Practise your lines with me?"

Newt looked bewildered. "You know, Mister Edison, that's not actually what detention is supposed to be like, in case you're new to this. I'm not, and detention is supposed to be boring, not, you know, productive or enjoyable."

Thomas pondered the words. "So, do any of these things sound productive or enjoyable to you?" Something about this - Newt seeing their time together as potentially enjoyable - made him weirdly giddy.

Newt shrugged. "Sure. It'd be great to have someone to go through my lines with."

The young teacher nodded and grabbed his own copy of Romeo and Juliet. "Alright, Romeo, show me what you got."

They went through Romeo's first scene, and Thomas was astonished to see that Newt had made tons of notes into the margins and actually knew a lot of the lines already. They talked about how to stress certain words, how to deliver certain lines, what they meant. It was extremely productive, and the minutes ticked by, unnoticed by either of them.

"I mean, the first part of the play is pretty hilarious at times," Newt said, and Thomas nodded in agreement. "Jokes all around, you could say. Take this: 'A sick man in sadness makes his will, a word ill urged to one that is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.' It's so unexpected that this would come up, but then again, nowadays it isn't, obviously, so you know, you could play the potential gayness into this..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at his teacher, blushing slightly.

For a moment, Thomas asked himself if Newt maybe had a crush on him. That would explain the weird sort-of-compliment, and the comment about how practicing together would be enjoyable. But - no. He must be mistaken. All the girls couldn't stop staring at Newt, and the boy didn't seem bother by it; hell, he'd probably have to drag Sonya off him when they'd kiss onstage. Newt definitely wasn't into guys. He'd never even seen him talk to any guys without glaring at them. The mere thought was ridiculous. No, he was definitely seeing things.

"Good thinking," he said, "I was gonna address this on Friday when talking to the cast - I don't want Jeff or the others to be uncomfortable with anything."

Newt nodded. "Sure. It was just a thought."

Thomas extended a hand to touch his forearm - "No, it's alright, I value your commitment" - when his skin met Newt's, and he felt as if he'd been electrocuted. There was an energy between them that had found its release when Thomas' fingers had brushed Newt's bare wrist. The young teacher dropped his hand and looked at it, almost expecting to see a blister forming there. Now that they weren't touching anymore, it was a mystery to him how he hadn't felt it before. The air around them was humming with a weird anticipation, and neither of them were saying a word until the silence grew uncomfortable. Newt's eyes were on him, huge and dark, so dark, and he looked as if he was waiting for something.

Thomas couldn't handle it.

"Goodness, is that the time?" he said, glancing at his watch. "I've got to get going, my kids need their dinner." He tried a smile, but it felt weirdly strained.

"Your kids... I see," Newt said in what seemed to be a neutral voice, but Thomas wasn't looking at him, busying himself by packing his bag.

"Great work from you today, Newt. This is going to be such a wonderful production. I'm sure you can see yourself out, I really have to go." And with that, Thomas left the room, awkwardly waving over his shoulder without turning around.

Outside, in the hallway, his steps grew quicker until he was sprinting down the steps and across the parking lot to his car, clumsily unlocking it until he managed to open the door and fall onto the driver's seat.

_What the hell had just happened?_

...

That night, when he tried to correct the homework sheets, all he could think of was the way the world had imploded when he'd touched Newt's arm. He'd never experienced anything like it, and he didn't know what it was. It wasn't attraction, it _could not be_ \- he wasn't gay, he was straight, he had a wife and kids, for God's sake! - but he couldn't deny that there was something there. Something that mattered.

And it scared the hell out of him.

After mulling this over in his head for hours, Thomas decided that he would ignore it. Nothing had happened, nothing that could jeopardize his career in any way. He was fine. He had done nothing wrong. Maybe Newt hadn't noticed anything. They wouldn't be alone for a week and by next Wednesday, they would be over the weirdness - if there had ever been any. Maybe he'd only imagined it. Maybe he'd just gotten a tiny shock, maybe Newt had been static - that was it! Of course! There was nothing to worry about.

Only that night, when he fell asleep, his dreams told him something different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys,  
> thanks so much for the positive feedback, I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well! :)  
> I'm always open to suggestions and I love talking to you sweets, so leave me a comment or say hi on tumblr (nerdylovelyme)! :)  
> Loads of love and see you back for chapter 5 xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first rehearsal is a success, Thomas' night with Teresa less so...

In his dream, Thomas was in a maze. Lost in the infinity of pathways, he ran between the towering stonewalls, trying to get his sense of direction. A growing sense of dread was taking hold of him, and he knew he had to make it out of the maze, or else something terrible would happen. At some point it had occurred to him that he should maybe keep to one side so he would eventually find his way out of the labyrinth, so he put his hand to the wall on his left side, continuing at a quick pace while trying not to get his hand tangled in the greenery that was overgrowing the ancient stone walls around him. It worked fine for a while, but after time, Thomas grew frustrated and tired, and he got careless, until his hand got stuck in a vine and he stumbled, painfully crashing to the floor. He lay there, thinking he might just stay where he was. Did it really matter? A ghostly cry echoed through the walls, a noise that definitely wasn't human. He got his elbows under him and tried to push up when he suddenly saw a hand extended towards him. Looking up, he saw that it was Newt. The blond smiled at him. "It's okay," he whispered, and pulled Thomas to his feet. Not letting go of his hand, Newt pulled him towards a new pathway, and Thomas let himself be pulled along, knowing it would be okay-

"Tom! Wake up!"

Regaining consciousness felt like swimming up the surface of deep water after having been many feet under for a long time - it happened slowly, and Thomas felt disoriented.

"What time is it?" he grumbled when he didn't hear an alarm clock ring. "Did you just wake me too early?"

"Excuse me?" Only now he realised that Teresa was also still in bed, and that darkness was engulfing them. "You woke _me_ , kicking around and talking about Romeo. Isn't it a bit early to be anxious about the play? Don't you have like two and a half months to go?"

"It's the week before Christmas." Thomas was still fog-headed, but one word brought him to his senses.

_Romeo._

He had talked about Romeo in his dream. Yes, Newt had starred in it - he had saved him in his dream. Saved from the maze where God knows what had stalked him. Thank God he hadn't called him Newt in his dream; that would have been a disaster. How could he have explained to his wife that he was dreaming about one of his students, a male one at that!

Well, come to think of it, he had dreamt about students before, often. Obviously. They were around him all day, shaping his life - of course he'd dream about them. Right? That wasn't weird, was it? And it wasn't like he could help it, he couldn't decide what to dream. And nothing had happened in the dream, anyway. Nothing much. So Newt had pulled him to safety. Big deal. It didn't mean anything. It had only been a silly dream!

Glancing over at Teresa, he saw that she had fallen back asleep. There was still half an hour left for him to doze before his alarm clock would ring. Somehow, though, he knew that sleep wouldn't come easily to him, and so he got up quietly to make some French toast. He needed some comfort food.

...

Thomas was early for the first rehearsal that Friday, but he wasn't the first one to arrive. Almost the whole cast was sitting on the stage, chatting amiably, chewing snacks, holding onto their script. Thomas had given out a first script the day before, but the purpose of this first meeting was to go through it all and see if any changes had to be made to make the play perfect for their ensemble.

"Good afternoon, guys!" Thomas shouted as he descended towards the stage. Happy "Hi, Mister Edison"-calls echoed back, and the young teacher excitedly dropped his bag onto the floor and hopped up onto the stage, sitting down next to Beth.

"We are only missing" - Thomas quickly looked them over - "Tybalt and Romeo, I think, and then we can get started," he said, smiling at his students, and they all nodded, looking eager. The excitement was almost tangible, and it felt great to be a part of the whole endeavour.

The doors opened again, and Aris and Newt walked into the auditorium, talking quietly, but stopping when realising that everyone was waiting for them. Thomas smiled to himself; it was good to see the blond was making friends - after all, that was the reason he asked him to participate. Now, the reason was that Newt was an amazing actor. "Perfect," he said, "Hi guys, take a seat, and let's get started!" Maybe he imagined it, but Newt didn't meet his eye, and maybe he secretly was glad of it.

He hadn't dreamt of Newt again, which was extremely relieving. Looking at him now, Thomas could almost pretend he didn't see them running through the maze together.

When they were all seated, Thomas addressed the group. "Hello and welcome to our first meeting. I'm extremely excited that you're all here, I think we've got a great group here and the show is gonna be amazing. Now, as you know, the text was a bit shortened, and what I would like to do now is to just read through it together, make comments, talk about scenes, and if you have any suggestions to make, please go ahead, because I want you all to be comfortable with what we're doing. Does that sound good?"

Excited murmurs answered, the students opened their booklets, and they got started.

Listening to his cast read out the play for the first time Thomas' enthusiasm didn't decline, which had never happened before with any other production he'd done. Sure, some of them stumbled over lines they were confronted with for the first time, but that was perfectly understandable, and Thomas didn't constantly have the feeling that they would have a lot of work to do. Some of his actors, like Newt and Jeff, had done some work already, as they were practically acting properly, getting the pentameter right and putting emotions into their speeches, and that seemed to motivate the others as well, so that they tried harder, and all in all, it was a thing of beauty to listen to them. Discussions were rare, but Newt and Jeff both thought their scenes together should be played a bit on the funny side, and they agreed to try that at the first proper rehearsal. Thomas kept looking at the two boys - they both seemed so concentrated, so professional - who would have thought Newt could focus like that on his first day in class, which had only been two weeks ago, he realised. Thomas felt proud of him. And the way Newt's eyebrows drew together when he lamented his fate was enchanting. Together with his British accent, he once again seemed to be the perfect Romeo. It was as if he perfectly understood Romeo's feelings - the unfulfilled longing, the agony of uncertainty. It was beautiful and heart-breaking to hear him read out the lines, so captivating. Thomas shook his head slightly and focused on Rachel, who was about to rise from the dead and then die again.

Apart from the humorous, probably slightly homo-erotic, scene between Romeo and Benvolio they all thought the play should be staged rather traditionally - Thomas had been prepared to do a more modern interpretation to contrast the text, but when they had finished reading through the play, the talk came to costumes, and most of his actors seemed to think that simple clothes would fit best.

"I like the idea of a sort of colour-code, like, the Montagues wear green shirts and the Capulets red accessories or something like that," Jeff said, and his suggestion found a lot of praise among the cast.

"I don't think we should be wearing jeans, though," Beth added. "Better do it in a timeless way - simple dresses, black trousers, stuff along those lines." Again, many nodded.

Thomas grinned, still surprised. "I wouldn't have taken you to go for conservative, not after that Baz Lurmann movie was so popular."

Jeff shrugged. "I just think it takes the focus away from what is really important." He looked over at Newt next to him, who also nodded. Thomas listened to all the suggestions and took notes in his notebook. A chance glance at his watch told him that the rehearsal had been going on for more than three hours. He couldn't believe it - time really _did_ fly!

He rose to his feet. "Okay, people, let's call it a day," he called, and his students glanced at their phones, seemingly just as surprised as he was. "Thank you for the excellent work, and I will see you again next week. Please try to start learning your lines - I know, Christmas seems far away, but you should seize the time now that you still don't have to study that much. Have a good weekend!" And with those words, his students gave a short round of applause, then rose and jumped off the stage, one after the other, yelling goodbye and waving before leaving the auditorium.

Thomas grabbed his bag - the huge room was almost empty but for Newt and Jeff, who were still discussing their scenes together. It was good to see the new student find friends - or so it seemed, as they both nodded and smiled at each other a lot. Thomas didn't want to disturb them, but he had to lock up the room, and so he slowly proceeded towards the exit and held open the door so they'd get the message. When they didn't, the young teacher cleared his throat.

Jeff looked up. "Oh, sorry, Mister Edison," he said, making towards the exit as well, Newt trailing after him, his hands in his pockets.

"It's okay, I'm just hungry," Thomas laughed, and Jeff smiled at him before exiting the auditorium. The blond walked after him, his eyes still on the floor, but when he passed his teacher, he raised his head, and their eyes met. Those dark, dark eyes. Thomas haltered. Words failed him. His stomach cramped painfully, and still, he didn't know what was happening to him.

He forced himself to focus.

"Have a good weekend," Thomas said.

"You too," Newt answered.

Okay, this was definitely weird.

Shuck.

...

Thomas ran into Newt again when he was walking towards the entrance ten minutes later. Newt seemed to be looking for something in his locker. The young teacher briefly stopped.

"Not breaking into any offices today, Newt?" Thomas said, trying for a joke, but Newt just raised his eyebrows at him. Okay, so maybe that hadn't been funny.

"No offences today except for my criminally good looks," he answered nonchalantly, and Thomas couldn't help but give him a once-over that Newt casually acknowledged with a smile. Yes, he was extremely handsome - tall, lean, muscular, blond, perfect face, amazing eyes. Wait - why was he even checking his student out? And a male one at that? He wasn't gay!!!

Thomas felt himself blushing. "Carry on, then," he said, and started walking again.

"I will, don't worry," Newt said, but he didn't stop. God, that was awkward. Thomas already dreaded Wednesday. 

No. He pushed the thought away. Best not to think about it until he had to. If he had to at all. Things might still be okay. He accelerated his steps and left the building.

...

Even though it was a Friday night, Thomas was so pumped by the successful rehearsal that he made himself and Chuck cheese toasties (Brenda was at a girls night at a friend's) and then, as his son cuddled up on the sofa to watch a Disney movie, he got started on the potential designs for stage props and background. He got out his notebook and sat down at the kitchen bar - his favourite place to brainstorm. Dangling one's feet when sitting on a barstool was just too much fun.

Since his students wanted to keep it simple and classy, he didn't think they'd need anything much in terms of colours, especially if the outfits were to be colour-coded. They would have to have a balcony, obviously, but that could be arranged by including some moveable elements to create something similar to a small podium in the middle of the stage; that set could also double as the Capulet crypt. Pillars would be good to signify Friar Lawrence's church, but that would probably turn out to be more difficult than he wanted it to be - he would have to ask the art teachers and think about ways to change the scenery quickly. The auditorium's stage wasn't all that sophisticated, so hiding props above the stage inside the curtain was impossible. Maybe they would be able to change the lights, have them look like the inside of a church, or create a cross by using a spot? All those ideas went into his notebook - Thomas would bring them up at the next rehearsal and a meeting with the other teachers who were involved in the project. Mrs Blunt would be delighted that no period costumes would be needed - even though they had gotten most of the stuff for Pygmalion from a Halloween store, she had sewed for several nights. He would still ask her about the costumes, as a second opinion could never hurt.

"Let It Go" was blasting from the TV area when Thomas heard the entrance door open and close. Looking up, he was surprised to see Teresa walking in - hadn't she said something about dinner with some business partners? A glance at the clock told him that it was only eight thirty and thus far too early for her to be home.

"Hi honey," she said, kicking off her high-heeled shoes and climbing onto the stool next to him.

Thomas blinked. "It's not like I'm not happy to see you, but - aren't you supposed to be at dinner with the interior designers?" He said it carefully, and thankfully, his wife wasn't offended.

"It got cancelled," she explained, shrugging off her blazer. "God, is that Frozen again?"

Thomas nodded. "Be glad our son enjoys strong female characters." He made to go back to his notes - the mention of strong female characters had given him an idea for the nurse - maybe she could change her dress so her shifting alliances would be stated optically as well, and maybe Juliet go from light red to dark red, and-

"Where is Brenda?" Teresa asked, walking towards the sink to probably get herself something to drink.

"At a sleepover," her husband answered distractedly - and maybe Romeo should change colours too, from a light green or blue to something darker; maybe the colour for the Montagues should be blue, anyway, because red and green would probably look a bit too contrary or unpleasant when combined.

Teresa came back to join him at the bar once more, a glass of water in her hand. "Where?"

"At Macy's." Turquoise would look nice, or maybe a dark petrol, on Newt. Yes, definitely, with his pale hair. Would a redhead look good in Bordeaux, though?

His wife seemed confused. "Macy's? Aren't they in a fight?"

Thomas shook his head, drawing up a list of potential colours. "They had a talk last week; Macy didn't mean to exclude her on that trip, she had secretly been in love with some boy and was trying to get his attention, that's why she had neglected Brenda. She apologized and now the squad is back together and movie nights are a thing again." Was purple more red or blue?

Teresa giggled a bit. "I'm so glad she's got you for all the girl talk." When Thomas didn't answer, she hopped off her stool once more. "I'm going to say hi to the little one and tell him to get ready for bed."

His wife left the room, and Thomas happily resumed working on his notes. Music was also important - a play without any music would lack emotion, and a play such as theirs that so heavily relied on emotions as it didn't have a substantial conflict was no exception to that rule. He would have to talk it over with the actors - they wanted a simple performance, but they could very well use more modern music. Timeless classics, perhaps; surely The Beatles wouldn't be too edgy anymore in this day and age?

Thomas was in the middle of creating a list of possible music when Teresa returned, hugging him from behind and putting her chin on his shoulder. "You're still at it?"

He nodded, trying no to punch her while doing so. "I need to do this now while I'm inspired."

Teresa's hands wandered a bit lower. "Can't you do it later?" she whispered, and from her tone it was obvious that she had something completely different in mind for them.

Thomas shook his head, glancing at her. "I can't, honey, this is important."

His wife took a step back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Excuse me, I just wrongly assumed that you will want to spend time with me." She sounded annoyed, and so Thomas put down his pen and half-turned to face her. "I'm sorry, baby, this is for work. It won't take all evening, but I have to finish this now. I don't know why you're upset."

Teresa threw her hands up in exasperation. "You don't know? Well, I can tell you - I'm home once and you're determined to work on your hobby theatre group."

Thomas could feel his pulse rising and his tolerance falling. "I didn't know you would be home," he said, forcing himself to be calm. "And I said it wouldn't take all evening. Also, I would greatly appreciate it if you treated my work with a bit more respect. After all, it gives you the possibility to follow your dreams because I can take care of our children."

His wife stared at him. "I didn't-"

"Oh, but you did," Thomas interrupted her. "You called this a hobby theatre group when it is actually a class I teach, which means I get paid for doing it. Just because I enjoy it doesn't mean it's not serious." He couldn't believe that he had to explain to his wife now what school friends, relatives and parents had asked him about numerous times, which was why he was so good at it.

Teresa looked at him for a few seconds. "I've hurt you with that comment, haven't I?"

It was hard for him not to roll his eyes at that question. "I'd be lying if I said no."

She started to say something, but Thomas interrupted her in his teacher-manner. "No, I need to finish this now. I will talk to you later." He knew he was being harsh, but he was truly upset. His wife being home early could have been delightful, meaning sex and cuddling and eating dessert in pyjama bottoms, but now it would be an awkward evening of him pretending he was okay when he really wasn't. Teresa's reaction had once again showed him that she didn't value his work as much as she did her own, and that was a real problem for Thomas. Okay, so maybe he didn't build fancy buildings, but he planted seeds in the heads of young people, trying to make them independent thinkers and kind human beings and prepare them for the unpreparable - life. Maybe it wasn't the most glorious profession, or the best-paid one, but someone had to do it, and he did it well. And he deserved respect for it.

Thomas worked on his notes for another half hour, only interrupted by Chuck saying goodnight ("Mum's going to read to me, she said!"). When he finally closed his notebook, he had created an agenda for the meeting with the other teachers involved and was content that it would be a productive one. He made himself yet another cup of tea and went into the living area to see what Teresa was up to. The young teacher found her asleep on the couch, and something made him refrain from waking her. He didn't want to fight, and he didn't want to pretend it was okay. It was only half past nine, enough time to comfortably read and eat chocolate in bed. So maybe he was a bad husband. Maybe he was childish. Maybe he should work it out with Teresa right away.

But right then, Minho's words came back to him. Maybe he should question his marriage.

He thought of Newt, and his confusion was perfect.

So Thomas did what he did best - he avoided the conflict and went to bed after grabbing a chocolate pudding from the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update before I go to bed :)  
> I hope you enjoyed this, guys, and I also hope you don't hate me for my portrayal of Teresa - I try to be not-biased, but I just don't like her too much :D  
> I'd love for you to share your thoughts with me, so please go ahead and comment or say hello on tumblr (nerdylovelyme), I really enjoy those little talks :)  
> I'll update as soon as I can, I promise, and as always  
> Loads of love xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas starts to question his sexuality... But not really, because he is a fan of avoiding a problem until it eventually goes away.

The weekend was weird. Thomas and Teresa were sort of tiptoeing around each other, trying to avoid another fight, and so Teresa didn't apologise and Thomas didn't talk about his feelings. It wasn't hard, though, because she was at work all Saturday, and he was grading homework, preparing lessons and looking after the kids and the house. Everything was normal, except that it wasn't, not really.

Normally, they would have had sex at least on Sunday morning, at least once a week; they had promised each other that when they were still crazy with passion - that they would never let the fire get dimmer. But the truth was, they hadn't slept with each other in over two weeks, and it wasn't that Thomas didn't want to - hell, his wife was incredibly sexy - but somehow he felt that he couldn't. It was as if there was a distance between them, one he couldn't overcome, and he should have talked about it, but he didn't find the words, and Teresa didn't say anything.

So they spent a comfortable yet awkward Sunday with Thomas making an elaborate breakfast and his wife working most of the day until she emerged from her office that night, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, her hair in a ponytail, to find her husband and her youngest son watching the Lego Movie on the living room couch.

"Hey boys," she said, but neither of them looked up (they were currently at the awesome car chase scene). "I was thinking that maybe we could go out for dinner?"

Now both of them looked at her. "Dinner?" Thomas asked. "Why?"

She smiled at him. "My treat," she said, shrugging. "I just feel like it. How about sushi?"

"DID SOMEBODY SAY SUSHI!?" Brenda was downstairs with lightning-quick speed. "Are we ordering?" Her eyes were so filled with longing that everyone laughed.

"I was thinking we could go to this running sushi place. My treat. I need a bit of family time away from my spread sheets."

Thomas was surprised, but he was also happy about the gesture. This was the first initiative Teresa had taken in a few weeks, and he knew better than to drive her away. "I'm game," he thus said, smiling at her in what almost felt like a natural way. Then he looked over at his son. "What do you think, kiddo, will you find something you like at running sushi?"

The little boy nodded. "Sure. Also, Brenda looks so happy," he answered, smiling contently. It was adorable how concerned he was for his sister's wellbeing.

Thomas patted his head. "That's very noble of you." He looked back up at his wife while turning off the movie, using the remote he was still holding. "Do you wanna go now?"

Teresa nodded. "Sure, why not? That way, we can eat longer."

Brenda grinned. "I like the way you think, mum."

So they put on their jeans (three Edisons were in their sweatpants) and grabbed their jackets to move outside into the rain. The weather had been awful for the last two days, wet and chilly, reminding more of November than September. It was only a few days until October would begin, though, so maybe Thomas would have to arrange himself with the thought that summer was finally over.

Teresa drove them to the sushi place, which was unexpectedly empty, and they got a good table close to the cooks. And then the family feast began.

As a businesswoman, Teresa was usually very concerned about her body; it was the industry's inherent sexism that dictated her to be good as at her job well as beautiful, and grudgingly, she complied. However, that evening, it seemed, she didn't care, grabbing spring roles and maki and shrimp fried rice as if her life depended on it, making Brenda complain that she didn't get _anything_. Teresa was funny, too, telling stories from work, and Thomas watched her, not quite able to suppress a smile. He could see that she was trying, that this was her way to tell him that she would give her best to make time for her family, that they mattered.

So he accepted this wordless apology and leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek.

It was the first time that Thomas had touched his wife in over forty-eight hours, and it felt good to do it, familiar, like home. However, when his lips touched her cheek, he suddenly remembered the flash of lightening, the electricity he had felt when he had touched Newt. This was different. This was allowed. This was right. This, sitting here with his family, laughing and eating, was home.

And he would try his best to keep it that way.

...

That night, Thomas was waiting in bed for Teresa to finish brushing her teeth. He had come to the conclusion that if they didn't communicate, he would simply seduce his wife. He was naked under the covers, and when she slid into bed beside him, he pulled her to his chest.

Her eyes grew big. "Baby, I don't know if I can move after how much I've eaten. You would have to do all the work." She grinned.

Thomas grinned back. "I don't mind," he breathed. His hand slid from her cheek down her throat, over her breasts and stomach directly into her panties, and he expertly parted her folds, finding that, despite having stuffed herself that night, she was more than willing to burn some calories in after-dinner activities.

Thomas captured her lips in a hungry kiss, and Teresa melted into his embrace, pushing her hips against his stroking hand that lazily teased her. He was half-hard, turned on by the way she willingly responded to his touch, and after a few minutes of relentless stimulation, he had her under him, whimpering and moaning so that when he entered her, she was so wet he had to take a moment to compose himself.

"Give it to me hard," she whispered into his ear, her eyes glistening wickedly, and Thomas happily complied, exhausting himself by thrusting into her again and again. Teresa's moans turned into higher-pitched shrieks, and he could feel her orgasm build, pushing her over the edge with a few expert flicks at her clitoris, and when she came, her contractions made him follow shortly afterwards.

Teresa stretched her arms up, grinning, which made her look like a cat, comfortably rolling around on sun-warmed asphalt, while Thomas was exhausted. He could feel himself drifting over to sleep in a matter of seconds.

"That was great, baby," Teresa said, pressing a kiss to his lips, before she hopped out of bed and into the bathroom, probably to get cleaned up.

So they hadn't talked. But they'd had sex. And it had been great. Well, at least really good. That could be considered as working on your marriage, right? Thomas thought so, and he was content. This was much more fun than talking.

When Teresa returned, he was already asleep.

...

Thomas started the school week with even more enthusiasm than usual after their little couple therapy sex session. It was a good first step towards what they'd had before, towards happy married life, and he was excited for the next steps. He taught lessons and gave out assignments with more delight than most of his students seemed to find appropriate judged by the confused and slightly disgusted looks on their faces. However, there was one exception; Newt, who was always staring at him with mild interest, seemed captivated by his mood, his huge eyes slightly bigger as if he was surprised by the passion his teacher had for Shakespearean drama. Not that Thomas noticed what Newt looked like; only, he had started participating in class more frequently and appeared to have done quite some reading on Shakespeare.

"Hamlet is just an overgrown child," he exclaimed in exasperation during Wednesday's English lesson. "He treats everyone around him badly; has he ever thought about how his mum might be mourning too but is keeping it together for the sake of the realm?" His blond hair, recently cut but still a bit too long and very disarrayed, shook as Newt, agitated as he was, made wild gestures with his hands. It was nice to see him transform from the cool new kid to the theatre nerd; Thomas had never understood coolness - theatre, however, he understood.

A few girls giggled at his words - his British accent made it all sound so much more dramatic - but he gave them a grumpy look and turned back to Thomas, who watched him with fond amusement. "Don't you think that Hamlet might be frustrated with his mother for getting married so early? Maybe he's just worried for her."

Newt scowled at him. "Er, no? Because that's not how you treat people you love." His dark eyes were blazing, and Thomas was about to ask Newt his opinion on Ophelia's and Hamlet's relationship when the bell rang and ended the lesson.

...

"That was quite an emotional reaction you had today," Thomas said to Newt as soon as he was sitting down for his weekly detention. The young teacher had almost forgotten how weird it had been between them last week, and anyway, he was a natural at telling himself that he was imagining things. Denial was, after all, also a strategy to deal with problems. 

Newt snorted and pulled his books out of his backpack. "You bet. I just get so frustrated with Hamlet, I mean, he's just all talk and no deed, and when he does something, he does the wrong thing. He is sort of an anti-Romeo, don't you think? Romeo always does stuff, he is very quick in reacting to whatever happens in his life - after he meets Juliet, at least."

Thomas looked at him, the way Newt eagerly studied his face to look for an answer in it. He couldn't help the slow smile spreading on his face. "I think that's a really interesting thought. Maybe you could keep it in mind for your paper, I would love to read about it. I was thinking about giving you guys questions about emotions, anyway." He paused. "How are you and Romeo getting along?"

The blond shrugged. "I'm not sure. I mean, I think I understand him better now. I understand that he is very torn between what is right and what would make him happy..." He trailed off. 

Thomas smiled encouragingly. "Well, that's a good starting point," he said. "And anyway, I'm not worried about you succeeding, really. You were incredible at the audition. We bought your every emotion you portrayed, I don't even know how you do it."

Newt smiled his shy, pleased smile that he only ever showed when they were alone, but he didn't say anything. After a few quiet moments, he opened his mouth, seemingly hesitant. "Mr Edison, can I ask you something personal?"

The young teacher thought for a second. "Can I choose not to answer?"

Newt seemed confused. "Well, _sure_ ," he said, shaking his head slightly, "Why would I force you to do anything?" Thomas found the sentiment quite cute, so he nodded. "Go ahead."

Newt took a deep breath. "You're married, right?"

Thomas didn't know where this was going, but he nodded again. "Yes," he answered slowly, cocking his head to one side. "Why?"

His student seemed so serious it was almost alarming. "Do you think Romeo and Juliet would have made it? As a couple, I mean? For a significant period of time? Or do you think a passion like that - as wild, as forbidden - can never last?" His ears grew pink as he finished, a sight that was positively endearing. Thomas thought for a moment.

"I give them a fifty-fifty chance, like every couple. Just because it starts out as love- or shall we rather call it _passion_ -at-first-sight doesn't mean they can't build a deep friendship, trust and a loving relationship."

Newt furrowed his brows. "Friendship?"

Thomas smiled. "Well, I think the secret to a working relationship is always friendship. Because, let's be real, you don't always love the other person the same and you're not always gonna want to seduce them three times a day, but then you've still got your best friend, the one you can hang out with after a long day. You know what I mean?"

The blond looked concentrated, as if Thomas had given him a lot to think about. "So your wife is your best friend?" He finally asked.

He really wanted to, but Thomas found he couldn't say yes. Not at the moment. At the moment, he would rather have sex with Teresa three times a day than talk to her about her project, his work or anything other than food and the kids. They needed to get their communication back onto the successful road it had been on for almost half his life, and they weren't there yet. However, he also didn't want to lie to Newt.

Thomas shrugged. "If you decide to get married, you'll see that it's not always that easy."

Newt looked at him for a few seconds. "I just thought... You seemed so happy this week." He seemed honestly shocked. "I'm sorry."

His young teacher shrugged. "It's alright, Newt. My wife just doesn't think what we do here is very important." He smiled a bit, already regretting he'd said anything. He looked at his notebook.

" _Excuse me?!_ "

Thomas looked up to see Newt look furious. "What?"

The blond pulled one hand through his hair, making it look even messier. "How can she think that this is not important? Art is what makes us human, for crying out loud! It's portraying emotions, celebrating the very nature of what we are!" Thomas recognised a few of his own metaphors in that and was more than pleased. "You give a group of theatre nerds a place to turn to, you give us the fun extra-curricular we need to make it through calculus class, you give us your time, and you help us achieve our dream. I wouldn't even be attending class regularly if it weren't for _you_ , because you said I had a chance at doing what I love for a living!" He took a deep breath. "You're doing great work here, Thomas, and don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

Thomas wanted to kiss him.

...

It was only a moment, a tiny split second, but while it lasted, Thomas had the overwhelming, all-engulfing desire to press his mouth to Newt's lips. He couldn't explain it - he was married to a _woman_ , for God's sake! - but something about the way this boy - this young man - was appalled by the notion that someone could find Thomas' work unimportant filled him with a never-felt tenderness.

Also, had Newt just called him _Thomas_?

He just stared at him for this incredibly short, incredibly long moment during which he felt so impossibly close to his student until it was gone.

"Thank you," he whispered, still staring into Newt's eyes.

Newt was sitting at his table, so close and so far away. "I really mean it," he said quietly.

"I know." Thomas dragged all ten of his fingers through his hair. "Newt?"

"Yeah?" The blond guy looked sheepish all of a sudden.

Thomas smiled. "Don't call me by my first name outside of detention, okay? I am still a young teacher and even though I don't mind, our headmaster has a lot of ideas about respect and tradition and all that."

Newt smiled. "I will remember that... Thomas." Something about the way he pronounced his name made the young teacher's heart skip a beat. He smiled. "And now, if you don't mind, I need to get a bit of work done."

Not that he could concentrate very well after that.

...

That night, Teresa was again working late. There was a message on his voicemail that he would probably be asleep when she got home as they were actually having dinner with the interior designers that night. So Thomas went for a run - he had been avoiding Minho for the past few days, because yes, avoiding was how he dealt with stuff like that - and told Brenda to order whatever when he came home, sweaty and exhausted, an hour later. The cool air had cleared his head after his confusing encounter with Newt, and he stepped into the shower after dropping his clothes (bye-bye, shorts, see you next year) onto the bathroom floor.

Thomas started rinsing his body with the relaxing warm water when he noticed that, in his post-sport high, he was actually feeling just a tiny bit horny. A quick glance downwards told him that he was half hard, and a tentative stroke with his soap-slick hand made him bite down a moan. It wasn't like he was going to get laid that night, anyway. He might as well enjoy himself alone. 

Letting his mind wander, Thomas quickened his strokes, thinking of his last encounter with Teresa... Her soft form... Her moans... Her hot, clenching...

Suddenly, there was something changing in his fantasy. It wasn't Teresa who was under him. It was Newt. It was Newt's face that was painted with pleasure, it was Newt's arms he felt around him, it was Newt's tight heat he was pushing into.

_Thomas._

He had said his norm with such gentleness, God, Thomas could almost hear him moan it when he kissed him, when he touched him, when he fucked him...

Thomas came with such force that he slipped and had to catch himself against the wall to avoid falling down. He stared down at his hand, where the evidence of what had just happened was plain to see.

He had jerked off, imagining screwing his _student_. His _male student_. Thank the Gods he wasn't also a minor.

_That's not funny, Edison, stop it! You've got a problem!_

Oh yes, he did. He had a problem.

He was imagining sex with Newt.

How could he ever look him in the eye again after _that_?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading <3  
> I hope you're happy with what's going on in this fic, I'm really trying to be nice to Teresa, I swear :)  
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please leave me a comment because your happiness is very dear to me :3  
> Loads of love xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rehearsal brings an unexpected turn...

Thomas tried to carry on as best as he could after the shower incident and gave Newt the week off detention on grounds of him "having to be somewhere" - _somewhere_ , in that case, turned out to be his couch, re-reading Macbeth for class, and not that this couldn't wait, but you know what else could wait? Him having to face Newt alone. Yes, yes avoidance was bad and all that, but also his go-to coping mechanism. Actually, that wasn't quite true - only for everything that wasn't kids-related. Because when it came to kids, ignoring stuff usually turned out to be disastrous. But apart from that, yup, he tended to avoid uncomfortable things.

So Thomas prepared classes and worked out a playlist for the play - his group was sceptical where pop music was concerned, but they agreed that songs should be played during the break, and instrumental pieces were chosen to go with the scenes and would be tested at the rehearsals to see if they worked. Also, Thomas had arranged for everyone to bring clothes they thought would fit their character along to the next rehearsal so they could work on the colour scheme and see what was missing and would need purchasing or mending. Furthermore, they'd started working on actual scenes now, and it was exciting to work out where everyone should be standing, which gestures were appropriate and the like. Thomas carried his notebook everywhere to jot down a few words whenever he had an idea, and he enjoyed working on the project immensely.

Teresa was as busy as always, scheduling meetings and updating plans, and Thomas was secretly glad of it. He hadn't slept with her again, and he was afraid of his mind wandering when he would. If he needed to touch himself, he would do so watching porn and forbidding himself any actual thoughts. And since his wife was barely home, he would have time to get over himself. So he was fine, really. Just fine.

Or so he told himself.

...

That Friday saw the second proper rehearsal. Also, everyone had brought their potential costumes, and Mrs Blunt, the short, good-humoured arts teacher in her early forties, was there as well to inspect the clothes. Thomas had been working with his colleague for several years; she had a passion for theatre and an eye for colours and style that made her an immensely valuable ally when staging a production. She had approved of the idea of a colour scheme for the characters and was now standing next to Thomas as he called the group to order.

"Hi everybody, and welcome back," Thomas called out and the murmuring died down. "I want you all to welcome Mrs Blunt, who is going to take a look at all the costume ideas today. Lola, thank you very much for your time!" The group applauded enthusiastically, and his colleague smiled, blushing.

"I know that this might be a rather time-consuming endeavour today, so I would like to get started right away. Everyone, put on your costumes or if you have more than one, just slip into the first one and then come see Mrs Blunt and I. We'll be starting with Romeo and Juliet so you can then start rehearsing immediately." He caught Newt's eye, who nodded and joined the others in walking backstage.

Mrs Blunt smiled at him. "I brought my camera so we can take pictures of the clothes and the actors. No way I'm going to copy them from your phone again this year. I can't un-see that one nude picture of you and your wife." She laughed, and Thomas joined in, mumbling something, even though that occurrence was nothing he liked to be reminded of. He retrieved his notebook from his backpack and sat down in the front row, awaiting his actors' arrival.

Newt and Sonya appeared onstage, and Thomas immediately liked their look. Newt was wearing cream-coloured slacks and a nicely cut petrol-coloured shirt that hugged him just right in all the good spots (not that Thomas noticed), the rolled-up sleeves emphasizing his arms (another detail that went unnoticed by the young English teacher). He looked like a teen that was dressed well but maybe not entirely comfortable in his skin - a perfect Romeo. One had to admit - Newt was stunning. Thomas tried to shrug it off.

Sonya was wearing a red jumpsuit that didn't exactly say _childish_ but seemed playful in the way it hugged her hips and then fell down to her knees where it was tight again. It was, however, made of nice-looking crimson material and definitely looked just as sophisticated as Newt's shirt - _two households, both alike in dignity_ indeed.

"The colour-thing works!" Mrs Blunt exclaimed as Newt and Sonya crossed the stage to stand in the front. They stood next to each other, seemingly comfortable both with being scrutinized and with standing close to each other. "I also like the jumpsuit, it emphasizes Juliet's tomboy side while still being sophisticated."

Sonya smiled. "That's what I thought," she said. Her hair was down, but its ginger colour went well with the crimson of her clothes. She held up a dress. "And I thought this might be perfect for the wedding and everything that happens after." The dress was deep purple, a perfect mix of red and blue, and it was rather low-cut, with spaghetti straps and a swinging skirt. "We have a shirt in the exact same colour for Newt." She caught his eye, and Thomas saw her blush just a tiny bit as the blond smiled at her. The young teacher frowned. Was there something going on between his leads?

Thomas cleared his throat. "Alright, I'll take a picture of you in your outfits, and then I'd like to take another picture of you wearing purple if that's alright." The actors nodded both. "Mrs Blunt?" His colleague handed him the camera and he switched it on.

"I suppose this is the part where I say _cheese_ ," Newt said in a strangely velvety voice, and Sonya giggled happily as Thomas took the picture, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.

"That's it, now get changed, please, and send out someone else," Thomas said, suppressing a sigh. This was going to be a long afternoon.

...

A good two hours later, Thomas and Mrs Blunt were taking their last picture. Luckily, most of the clothes were appropriate to be used as costumes - things like details for the priest's outfit as well as swords and other minor elements were still to be purchased, but all in all, the idea to use normal clothes would save them a whole lot of money, which was a relief.

Most of the cast were still there, looking at people's outfits while sitting in groups somewhere in the auditorium, practicing lines. Thomas was thankful for their constructive behaviour; not one had shouted something silly during the process, however, several had spoken up to volunteer their own pieces of clothing for the show. All in all, it had been a very productive session.

"That's it for today, people!" Thomas exclaimed, rather exhausted, grasping the mug of coffee his colleague had brought him at some point. "Thank you all for your patience. We're going to start rehearsing for real next week. Please be prepared!" Applause ensued, and the students jumped to their feet to retrieve their clothes from backstage, waving goodbye on the way out as Thomas was leaning against the stage, transferring all the pictures onto his Macbook.

"Thanks so much," he said, unplugging the device and handing it to Lola. "And thank you again for your help. Again. What would we do without you?"

His colleague smiled. "Have good actors in shitty clothes, I assume," she answered. "Have a good weekend, Thomas." She waved at him and joined the students on their way out. Thomas returned to his laptop. There were dozens of pictures, all of them featuring his smiling cast. He would look at them again tonight - good thinking that he'd made a huge pot of chicken soup the night before so he wouldn't have to cook.

"Thomas?"

The young teacher started; he'd thought he'd been alone in the auditorium. Sure enough, though, Newt was standing above him, up on stage, still wearing his purple shirt. He smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," Thomas answered, although clearly, he had. It was still excessively weird to hear his student use his first name. Then again, Newt had somewhat earned it, what with being the best actor in the production and a fan of Thomas and all. "What's up?"

Newt sat down, his long legs dangling off the stage. "I was wondering if you could show me the pictures again? I'm curious."

Thomas looked up at him, finding those impossibly dark eyes. "You are?" he asked, truly surprised. Hadn't he just seen all the outfits when they'd been photographed?

"Absolutely." Newt sounded so sincere that Thomas cracked a smile. "Alright, sure."

He climbed up onto the stage to sit beside Newt, crossing his legs under him to make space for the laptop in front of him. The blond moved back too, mimicking Thomas' way of sitting, and leaned his cheek against his hand, his elbow on his thigh. "Fire away!"

Thomas opened the last picture, as it was the first on the list. "Here you are, the servants."

Newt nodded. "I really think it's a good idea to have them wear black and only let their allegiance show in their ties and scarves."

Thomas grinned. "Well, it was your idea."

The blond grinned back. "Oh, I know." His grin was captivating, and Thomas had to use all his mental strength to not think of the moment he had jerked off to thoughts of Newt in the shower. That, after all, had never happened. In a way.

They looked at every single picture, talking about every single costume, and Thomas felt himself relaxing more and more. Newt wasn't just interested; he was terrific company, smart in his comments and honestly dedicated to the whole cause. But he was also fun; it was like talking to a really good friend back in university, geeking out together over Shakespeare. It was easy to forget that the blond was sixteen years his junior.

"I like that Paris is wearing green," Newt said thoughtfully. "Wouldn't have been my choice, to be quite frank, but it does look good. It shows that he has his own interests and is his own party."

The young teacher nodded. "I really like the way you think, Newt." They shared a glance, and for the fracture of a second, Thomas thought how undeniably attracted he was to this young man. Then he went back to denying it.

It was hard to say if Newt had felt it too, but the blond smiled. "Thanks."

They went on to skim the pictures, and a quick glance at the clock in the upper right-hand corner of the screen told him that he'd been sitting there with Newt for an hour. _An hour._ It had felt like minutes.

Finally, they reached the last picture; the first in chronological order. Newt looked smug, smiling into the camera in his dark blue shirt, with Sonya having her eyes closed because she was laughing so hard.

Newt chuckled. "I think she likes me."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "You don't say." He was totally forgetting that he was talking to a student - this young man was more like his equal.

Newt shook his head. "I'm not... Into her." He sounded serious, but also shy, in a way that made Thomas' pulse race.

His teacher looked at the picture, scrutinizing Sonya. "She's beautiful, though."

" _You're_ beautiful."

_What?!_

Thomas looked over at Newt, who was staring at him. He only now noticed how close he was; there wasn't even a foot between their faces. Newt's eyes were intent when they met Thomas'. "You look so good in this light and I, God, I-"

That was when Thomas kissed Newt.

He hadn't planned to do it, he didn't recall leaning in or closing his eyes, it was just that suddenly his lips were pressed to Newt's and he was kissing him with a sort of desperate urgency. What was more, Newt immediately kissed him back; he could feel the blond move against him, he tasted his lips, his tongue, and he was on fire. There was heat everywhere, and Thomas put his hands on Newt's cheeks to pull him closer, and the blond mirrored his gesture, and he didn't know where he was anymore, because everything that counted was that he was kissing his-

-his _student._

Thomas started, breaking the kiss. He opened his eyes to meet Newt's impossibly beautiful dark ones, which were sparkling with joy, and he dropped his hands as if he'd burned himself (which was exactly what had happened). He scrambled back a metre or two, still sitting on the stage, and panic engulfed him. What had he _done_?

"Oh my God," Thomas gasped, shaking all over. "Oh my God." This was real. This wasn't some stupid wanking fantasy, this was a real danger to his job as well as his marriage. What had he been _thinking_?!

Nothing, obviously.

Newt had remained in his sitting position. He was looking at Thomas, eyes wide, looking slightly dishevelled from their make-out session. Oh God. He had kissed a student.

"Thomas," Newt said, his voice small and reluctant. He tried to reach out to his teacher, but he was too far away. 

Thomas just shook his head, hugging himself. "Oh my God. This is an absolute - oh God. Oh God." He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate, which was something he never did as normally he kept his fears at bay by ignoring them. "What have I done, what-"

"Thomas!" Newt was next to him in a second, grabbing his shoulders. "Thomas, listen to me," he said, apparently trying to break through the veil of panic surrounding the brunet, but it wasn't working, Thomas still didn't know how to properly breathe, he-

" _Tommy!_ "

Startled, Thomas met Newt's eyes. Those two tender little syllables, sounding so pleading, managed to snap him out of it. "Yeah?"

Newt smiled, obviously relieved that his teacher was calming down. "It's okay, you know? It's okay. I..." He blushed. "I wanted it, too."

Thomas stared at him in disbelief, blue eyes meeting brown ones. "You wanted it?"

The blond couldn't help the little laugh that escaped his lips. "Of course. Thomas, Tommy, I-" He was again lost for words, it seemed. "It's all I want," he finally finished, his eyes huge like Bambi's, and it would have been so easy, too easy, to kiss him again.

But it couldn't be.

Thomas scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry, Newt, I- I can't do this."

Newt stared up at him, not moving. In the semi-light of the auditorium, his blond hair looked darker, shimmering in a bronze tone. He was the beautiful one, really, but Thomas couldn't tell him.

Newt met his gaze. "Why? Because you have a wife? Because I'm your student? Because you can't admit to yourself that maybe there is something extraordinary between us?" He said it quietly, levelly, calmly. Thomas was the crazy one in this scenario.

Well, he didn't care.

"I- I have to go," he said, grabbing his laptop and his bag and making towards the exit until, with a few quick steps, Newt caught up and stood in his way.

"Oh, so you're just going to leave now, is that it?" he said, and for the first time, Newt seemed like the angry kid he had been on the first day of school, not the calm young man he'd been before. "You're just going to walk away."

Thomas looked at him, pleading. "Newt, I can't, please." He could feel tears gathering behind his eyes - tears of shame, of distress, of actual sadness.

Newt gulped. "Tell me that that wasn't the single most amazing kiss you've ever had." His eyes seemed to be shining as well, or maybe Thomas was imagining things, he just wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible. He couldn't take it, all of it, it was just too much. "Turn off the lights when you go, please," he whispered, and then he turned away and left the auditorium, not looking back.

...

Thomas spent the next thirty minutes hugging himself in the deserted staff room, trying to get his breathing under control. He sat on one of the comfortable chairs that were never empty except for the oddest of hours, like this one - why would anyone still be here on a Friday night after 6 pm?

He couldn't really keep a straight thought. The happiness in Newt's eyes giving way to hurt was only one of the images he couldn't shake. Thomas could have slapped himself. He had simultaneously jeopardized his career, his relationship, his family... And whatever this was he had with Newt. Because yes, there was something. The way Newt and he talked made him feel like he'd found his long-lost best friend, and when the blond touched him, he wanted to melt.

Still, compared to everything else that was on the line, Thomas knew that Newt was the one thing he had to give up. Everything else would turn out alright - Newt couldn't really tell on them as Thomas had witnessed him breaking into the principal's office, and he would just forget anything had ever happened and try to be a better husband to his wife.

Yes, that sounded like a plan. Immediately, it was easier to breathe. He would be okay. Everything would be okay.

So why was he feeling so down?

...

Thomas got home late that night, but Chuck was at a friend's house and Brenda was getting ready to go to the movies with some friends, so nobody had really missed him or expected him to be an attentive father that evening, and he was glad of it.

Once he was alone, he didn't really feel like doing anything, because he couldn't focus for longer than thirty seconds anyway, so he decided to bake. It wouldn't take his mind off things, but at least he would keep busy and the by-product would be delicious. The bananas in the fruit bowl looked perfect to make some banana bread, so Thomas put on some loud music and had an emergency dance party in the kitchen putting all his emotions into smashing the bananas.

"Wooohooo I got a love that keeps me waitin'," he sang whole-heartedly to the empty house and kicked a cupboard closed after taking out a mixing bowl. The lyrics felt as if he could have written them, and he enjoyed giving himself over to the loud music and his instinct. Thomas had always loved to be alone in the house, feeling the bass reverberate through it, and this was exactly what he needed that night.

He felt better by the time he sprinkled cinnamon on top of the dough as a finishing touch and put the whole thing into the oven. His phone lay on top of the kitchen counter, blinking, so he washed his hands for good measure and then reached for the device.

Teresa: _Home around 9, I hope xx_

A quick glance at the time told Thomas that he had at least an hour to himself and The Black Keys before his wife would be home.

He didn't recognise the number the second message was from, but it started with _It was the..._ , which didn't strike him as a spam, so he opened it.

_It was the single most amazing kiss I've ever had._

Thomas gulped. _Newt._

Of course he had his number; he'd given it to the entire cast in case of an emergency.

Well, this was a different emergency than he'd had in mind back then.

Should he answer? Well, that wasn't a question - obviously, he shouldn't. He was playing a dangerous game here; he was married, he had a job to lose. And yet...

It had absolutely been the best kiss he'd ever had. Newt had made him feel so desirable, and he hadn't felt that in a long time.

Still. It wasn't right.

And so Thomas deleted the message and spent the rest of his weekend trying to forget he had ever received it and the kiss that had preceded it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> I hope you liked this chapter - I'm not too sure what you guys think about this fic in total, so I hope you like this twist :)  
> Thanks for reading and see you soon, I hope  
> xxx


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt waiting for Thomas after rehearsals is becoming a thing, apparently...

Thomas found it extremely difficult to look at Newt in class that following Monday. All he could think of whenever those dark eyes met his was the feeling of their lips pressed together, and to say it was distracting would be an impossible understatement. It was good that Newt didn't participate all that much; he had gone back to quietly observing, which seemed to confuse some of his classmates. Newt had had a lot of thoughts on Hamlet so far, but that seemed to have changed now, and nobody knew why.

Thankfully, Thomas had devoted a big part of his Saturday to developing interactive lesson plans, and he had also prepared clips of three different Hamlet versions to show his students and have them compare the adaptations in groups, so he got through the week of teaching the senior English class without having to directly speak with Newt while at the same time keeping up his teaching standards. And his class had liked it; they enjoyed being interactive, especially Jeff and Sonya and all the other theatre lovers, so that Newt's relative quietness wasn't too big a deal in the whole scheme of things. By Friday, Thomas felt confident enough to work with the blond during the rehearsal; they would never be alone, and Newt, although he seemed to be punishing his young teacher with indifference, would behave like the professional he longed to be, Thomas was sure of it. So he was only mildly nervous when walking into the auditorium that afternoon.

He was pretty beat, though; his week had been emotionally exhausting on more than one level. There had been an ugly little fight with Teresa on Tuesday night, and he was still angry when he thought about it.

_"Thomas, why are my blouses not ironed?" Teresa came bursting into his study at ten pm as a way of greeting him._

_He spun around in his chair. "Nice to see you too, wife, I missed you, too," he said ironically, which didn't lighten his spouse's mood. She put her hands to her hips._

_"Thomas, you know I need to look good at work, and you are usually doing the ironing, so what kept you this week?"_

_Thomas sighed, exasperated. "I don't know, my job, our kids and our house maybe?" He stopped himself. It was too late to have a severe fight. "I can iron one for you right now if you want to?"_

_Teresa rolled her eyes. "No thank you, I'll do it myself." And over her shoulder, she said: "I really need to be able to rely on you, Thomas."_

_That was it. Thomas rose. "Rely on me? Are you crazy? If you had a shit day at work, don't dump that on me. There are enough blouses in the wardrobe if you just check it right!"_

And there he'd had his fight.

So yeah, life wasn't exactly easy for Thomas at the moment, and he was extremely looking forward to the rehearsal because if everything else went to hell, at least Shakespeare would always be perfect.

His cast was there, waiting, and seeing those young people full of enthusiasm for the play after a whole day, a whole week of school immediately improved his mood. They were here to give their best, and so would he.

"Hello Verona," he shouted as a way of greeting, and cheering from his actors answered him. Coincidentally, he saw that even Newt couldn't hide a smile. "I think we should get started right away. Maybe let's just start from the beginning, shall we?"

Everyone jumped to their feet as Thomas threw his bag down, grabbed his copy of the script, and sat down in the middle of the front row. "And we're keeping it casual. Everyone who isn't on stage can sit down and watch, there's no need to go backstage or whatever."

His actors nodded, and most of them sat down around him whereas some walked onto the stage, determination on their faces.

"Alright, quiet please!" Thomas announced. "Romeo and Juliet, Glade High production, Act one, scene one. And - action!"

Zart, a shy-looking sophomore, stepped forward, and his surprisingly deep voice reverberated through the auditorium as he started reciting the prologue: "Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene." Thomas had contemplated cutting the prologue, but had then decided that it existed for a reason, so who was he to take it away? And Zart did it well - the iambic pentameter sounded perfect, as if its flow came natural to him. "...what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend," he concluded and, with a gesture to Tim and Stan, two juniors, who entered the stage, backed away. 

Thomas had shortened that scene just a bit because it had been too long for their purpose, and so it wasn't long until Jeff entered the scene, telling the fighting boys to "Part, fools!" On came Aris to quarrel with him, and soon the stage was full of aggressive Montagues and Capulets until Clint, a senior who played the Prince, called them to order. It all worked surprisingly well, and Thomas enjoyed very much the way the scene set the mood for the play; there was a lot of energy on stage, even though they would have to choreograph the swordfights separately at some point.

Soon it was time for Newt to get onstage, and the young teacher noticed how all eyes went to him as soon as he was up there next to Jeff. Thomas was afraid for a moment that he would outplay them all, but then again, maybe Newt's talent would motivate the others to up their game. And anyway, Jeff was very good, too.

"Good morrow, cousin," Jeff said amiably to a pacing Newt. The blond had his fists in his pockets and barely acknowledged his friend's present. "Is the day so young?" he lamented, and immediately, as if he had turned on a light switch, he _was_ Romeo.

Thomas was again smitten.

"But new struck nine," answered Jeff, and the two of them were great together on stage as they continued their dialogue. The audience giggled when Newt said: "I do love a woman," and Jeff, rolling his eyes, deadpanned, "I aimed so near when I supposed you loved." "A right good marksman!" Newt said, pretending to be seriously impressed, and once more everyone laughed a little. It was amazing to watch the two of them, as if they'd done it a hundred times.

Thomas couldn't keep his eyes off the lovesick Romeo. Somehow he had a feeling that Newt's performance was so heartfelt that there had to be some real emotion behind it. Was he feeling as awful about last week as his young teacher was? Because Thomas felt awful. It wasn't fair, none of it, not to him or to Teresa, but also not to Newt. He was just a young man with a crush on his teacher, and it wasn't like Thomas had made it easy for him. Maybe they should talk. Maybe. If Thomas had been good at talking about his emotions, there would have been no _maybe_ in that sentence, but with him being the way he was... He just didn't know.

Everyone applauded at the end of the scene.

Thomas rose to his feet. "That was really good work, everyone! Jeff, Newt, great job!" he exclaimed happily. Newt and Jeff smiled at each other. His worries that Newt could outplay the others had been unnecessary; if anything, they were better with the blond standing next to them. "Any comments from anyone?"

Newt nodded. "What about the body language?" he asked. "Was it okay?" He looked at Thomas as if he didn't really care, but the young teacher knew that he did care.

Thomas nodded. "I liked it, there was a lot of dynamic in the scene, you seemed very restless and that was really good. Does anyone else have any thoughts?" Phew, that had been an okay first interaction after their catastrophic kiss last week, but he gladly took the opportunity to look away.

Sonya raised her hand. "I thought maybe it would be nice to have Jeff be a bit more static in the beginning to have a better contrast to the restless Newt. I liked how they fell into step together at the end, but maybe that should be a gradual change."

Thomas nodded. "Good thinking, Sonya." He looked back at the boys onstage. "Do you maybe wanna try it like that?"

...

They carefully worked their way through the first act, re-doing scenes over and over again, trying to work out the best way of reciting the lines and which gestures would go with them. It was exhausting, but also a lot of fun. Jeff seemed to feel the anxiety coming from Newt, and he and Winston did their best to live up to Benvolio's and Mercutio's characters, goofing around in the short breaks they took, and it improved the atmosphere almost immediately. They made a fine trio, the three young Montagues; with Newt's fair complexion, Jeff's green eyes and brown hair and Winston's dark skin, the audience wouldn't confuse them, which was always good in theatre, but they looked so alike in their boyish demeanour while in character that Thomas couldn't help but congratulate himself on casting them together. Any good production of Romeo and Juliet needed strong Montague boys. And strong Montague boys they had.

Thomas released his cast after the first act; they'd worked for almost two hours, and before they'd lose concentration, it was best to stop rehearsing when they still felt the high of achievement. Not all rehearsals would be as good, he knew that, but right now, he didn't want to ruin his cast's motivation.

"I am very proud of you," he said as a means of closing the rehearsal, and he meant it - minor line slips had been their biggest problem, and that actually wasn't one, as there was enough time to learn the text properly. "Have a great weekend."

His students applauded and jumped off the stage, individually calling their goodbyes to him before leaving the auditorium. Thomas saw Newt walk out with Sonya and Jeff, and he had to tell himself that it was good that he left, that it was good that they didn't talk. It wasn't right.

But somehow, this also didn't feel right.

Thomas made sure all the lights were turned off before walking out of the auditorium and locking it - a rule he had neglected the week before. He immediately tried to get last week's occurrences out of his head and focus on the rehearsal. It really had been a good one; the cast was great, and they were dedicated, and he was overjoyed that it had worked so well. Maybe he should have brought the music along, though, to see if it worked - but then again, there was plenty of time for that at a later point. For now-

"Thomas?"

The young teacher jumped at his name. He had been walking along the hallway, lost in thought, not paying attention to his surroundings. He searched for the origin of the voice and was(n't) surprised to find Newt kneeling next to his locker. Thomas had almost walked past him without noticing him.

He stifled a laugh. "Newt, you have to stop doing that or I'm gonna die of a heart attack someday soon."

Newt looked up at him, and his determination to look serious apparently slipped when the corners of his mouth drew upwards. "Sorry."

Thomas shrugged, because he didn't really know what to say. After a few uncomfortable seconds he went for, "Good work today. Really."

Newt was back to being serious. He nodded as if he hadn't really been paying attention, then suddenly said: "Look, can we talk?"

The young teacher had the sudden urge to run away, but something kept him. Maybe it was a part of him that thought it was time to act like a grownup. Maybe it was Newt's eyes. "Alright." And in a spur-of-the-moment action, he walked over to his student and slid down the locker next to him until he was sitting on the floor, too.

Both of them stared at the opposite wall of lockers, not saying anything for some time. The school was quiet; the only noises were the ticking of the clock on the wall above him and the distant shouts from the football pitch. It felt almost peaceful, sitting next to Newt like that. If he'd only known how to start.

"I'm sorry," Newt said suddenly. That startled Thomas. He looked over at his student. "What?" Maybe he hadn't heard right.

The blond took a deep breath, but didn't raise his gaze from his feet. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressured you so much. I don't know what I was thinking. I... That situation was just a bit much." He smiled sadly, but he still didn't look over at Thomas.

The young teacher was confused. "But... I kissed you?" He said, making it sound like a question. That's how he remembered it, anyway.

Newt shrugged. "I would have done it the next second if you hadn't." Finally, he look at him, and Thomas was instantly lost in his dark brown eyes. "I'm sorry this is so hard for you, Tommy," he whispered, and when he leaned in, slowly, to give him the opportunity to back out, Thomas didn't turn away.

It was very different from their first kiss; the way they sat next to each other, only turning their upper bodies towards each other, only their lips touching, it was a fragile, sweet kiss that awakened a hoard of butterflies in Thomas' stomach. He raised his hand to cup Newt's cheek, and when Newt leaned his head to the other side to give him better access, a crashing noise alerted Thomas.

He opened his eyes to see Newt rub his head. "Hit my bloody head," he groaned, but he was laughing, and Thomas couldn't help but crack a tiny smile. He was enchanted.

"Didn't you say you wanted to talk?" he prompted, and Newt grinned a wolf-like grin. "Didn't you like my way of conversing?" the blond asked, causing Thomas to blush.

"Well, anyone could have seen us, what were we thinking?" The young teacher shook his head about his negligence; they were in the middle of a school hallway while extra-curriculars were still on-going. Making out with a student here was most likely the craziest thing he'd ever done.

Newt took his hand. "Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?" he smiled, and Thomas' heart broke a little because he looked so perfect with his dishevelled hair and his glinting dark eyes.

"Newt..." he began, but he really didn't know how to say it. Newt just kept looking at him with those huge puppy eyes, and it didn't exactly help.

Well, he had to try.

"Look, it's like this -," he tried again, but the blond cut him off. "It's okay, Thomas, I get it, this is complicated." Newt shrugged, and he didn't actually smile, but he looked unconcerned. "You're my teacher, you have a family. I know. I just-" he took a deep breath, "I really like you, and I just thought I'd put it out there."

Newt _liked_ him. Thomas felt giggly, as if someone was tickling him.

He continued, "So I know your life is not exactly easy, but I thought you should know that you have alternatives." And with that, Newt pressed a quick kiss to his lips, grabbed his bag, and was gone.

Thomas sat there, awed, looking after him; Newt's stride was cool and confident, as if he knew his teacher was looking after him (which he probably totally did). He turned around once, briefly, to wink. Actually shucking _wink_.

Thomas wished he'd been that cool aged eighteen. Actually, he wished he'd be that cool now.

So... Newt liked him. And he'd thought he'd put it out there.

That didn't help his generally confused mind-set at all.

And they'd _kissed again_. And Thomas had _liked it again_. His life was such a train wreck. To say he was clueless would be an understatement. He had a family, for shuck's sake! Then why did it feel so good to be with Newt, to kiss him, to just be around him?

He was so deep in thought that he didn't realise the shouting outside had stopped.

"Edison?"

Yet again, a voice startled him out of his stupor. He looked up to see Minho walking towards him. "Hey," he greeted hesitatingly. They hadn't really talked since The Run.

"What are you doing there? Did you make out with a student against her locker?" He knew Minho meant it as a joke, but Thomas' laughter sounded fake even to his own ears.

"No no no absolutely not haha why would you think that that would be so wrong," he said without breathing and way too quickly, and from the look Minho gave him, he knew he was acting suspiciously.

"Thomas, are you okay?" his friend asked, coming closer, but Thomas really didn't feel like listening to another pep talk about sex with his wife or whatever Minho thought he was an expert on today, so he jumped to his feet and grabbed his bag. Part of him knew he was being stubborn, but he couldn't act differently in that situation at that moment, he just couldn't. "Yeah, fine, perfect," he said, then looked at his watch. "Wow, is that the time, I gotta pick up Chuck, I'll see you later," he continued, but before he could walk past Minho, his colleague extended an arm to stop him.

"Thomas."

"What?" He didn't turn around, didn't want Minho to see the guilty look on his face.

"You know you can always talk to me, right? I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't or whatever." Classic Minho - even when he was sincere, he sounded like he was too cool for a serious conversation.

"Sure," Thomas answered vaguely, and Minho let go of him. "Bye."

And with that he walked out while wishing he could stay and tell Minho just how fucked up everything was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading this, friends :)  
> And also thanks for those beautiful comments, they always make me tear up a litte :'3  
> I hope you're happy with this Sunday night treat, and as always, I love talking to you guys, so don't be shy :)  
> Loads of love and see you soon   
> xxx


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which features Newt in sweatpants and a domestic fight that triggers a fateful decision...

With all that was going on in his life, Thomas had been feeling a bit isolated lately, so it was comforting to have Brenda and Chuck around on Saturday morning. Brenda had been gone a lot lately, leaving the two boys alone, but when Thomas got up a bit later on Saturday, he found his children in the kitchen, making waffles.

"Good morning," he yawned, looking at the surprisingly tiny mess they had made of the very kitchen he had cleaned the night before as a way of dealing with his anxiety.

"Morning, dad," Chuck exclaimed, hugging him and getting dough on his sweatpants. "We're making breakfast!"

"I can see that," Thomas smiled, hugging the little boy back. It was good to feel the affection of his child - there was something so innocent about it.

"Morning, dad," Brenda smiled happily; her dark hair was in a messy bun and she was sporting her Hogwarts pyjamas - the image of comfort. "Chocolate sauce and fruit salad?"

"Please," Thomas said, turning to the coffee maker, where fresh coffee was already waiting, while Brenda whisked the warm chocolate sauce with one hand and kept her eye on a pot with steaming cocoa. "You two are amazing. What is it that you want? Money? Drugs? Fast cars?"

Brenda chuckled. "Just some family time, actually." Thomas had to bite his lip; was he dedicating too little time to children? He had been a bit preoccupied with the play and especially with Newt for the last two weeks or so, but he had always tried to be there for his kids, cooking them fresh meals, keeping them company, that sort of thing. Maybe he hadn't been engaged enough.

"Family time is good," he thus said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Shall I set the table?"

"Please."

So the young father got the breakfast table ready, and a few moments later, after Chuck's hands were successfully freed of any dough, they sat down to enjoy a comfortable Saturday morning breakfast. The waffles were good; Brenda had been helping him in the kitchen since she had been a little child, so she knew how to make a good breakfast. It was sad, however, how normal it felt that Teresa was absent. Thomas glanced over at the chair she normally sat in; he almost couldn't imagine her to share in this Saturday sensation. Saturdays always had a different feeling for him; while he wanted to stay in on Sundays and read and not do anything special, Saturdays were days to do grocery shopping and laundry and go to the movies and the mall and do all the things he would be too lazy to do on Sunday. He loved the kind of buzz that was in the air on Saturday mornings; they felt productive.

"So," he therefore said, "shall we go grocery shopping later?" Thomas always enjoyed taking the kids; even when Brenda had been tiny and screaming her lungs out on the floor in front of the chocolate shelf, he had just smiled and stepped over her; it was all part of the adventure.

"Sure," Brenda agreed, which was rare for a teenage girl, Thomas suspected, but maybe she had really missed family time, and who was he to deprive her of it. They had always been a team and he would be there for her.

"I thought maybe we could make fajitas today," Thomas continued, "you know, make the bread ourselves and everything. And we should also get some snacks; mum has the night off, and I thought we could have a movie night."

Chuck's eyes lit up. "That's brilliant, dad!" he exclaimed, and Thomas didn't have the heart to tell him that there was chocolate all over his face.

So he volunteered to do the dishes and they met up half an hour later, all clad in comfortable clothes that weren't sweatpants (just to make the appearance of decency); Thomas was wearing his Black Keys shirt and a jeans that he hadn't worn to school in ages because it did sport a few holes and well, Mr Einstein was a bit strict about dress codes.

Thomas drove them to their favourite grocery store; it was drizzling, so they hurried inside, grabbing a shopping cart as quickly as possible.

"Okay, team," he told his kids, who looked at him expectantly. "Brenda, you're veggies." The girl nodded, a determined look on her face. "Chuck, you're snacks for tonight's movie night, which is possibly going to feature _Singing In The Rain_ , so plan accordingly." The little boy nodded as well. "Okay, meet you in the aisle with the baking ingredients. Go." And off they were; this was an old game of theirs where they pretended to be on a mission; he had made it up when Brenda was tiny to make shopping more fun for her, and she insisted she still wasn't too old for it. So Thomas grabbed the cart and started looking for flour.

He was busy comparing two different brands of flour (because everyone was going on about wheat these days - should he maybe buy some other kind?) when he heard a voice that he was only too familiar with. He looked up to see Newt walk round the corner, talking to a tall woman who was probably his mother; she was ginger, but her face looked like her son's, and the way she moved featured the same elegant, cat-like elements as Newt's walk did. They were both dressed casually, and Thomas couldn't believe that anyone would look that good in sweatpants, but of course, Newt did. _Of shucking course._

The blond stopped for a second when he saw his teacher, but his probably-mother didn't seem to notice, and he caught himself quickly. "And I don't know about you, but I really wanna watch it, mum," he said loudly. He then pretended to only recognise Thomas when they were just a few feet away.

"Oh hello, Mister Edison," Newt said, smiling. His mother stopped as well, looking at her son for clues as to who that man could be. "Mum, this is Mister Edison, my English and drama teacher."

At these words, the woman's face lit up like a Christmas tree. She practically threw out her hand to shake Thomas'. "I am so glad to meet you, Mister Edison, Newt has been so happy ever since he started acting in your theatre group," she said, her accent clearly that of someone born and raised in England.

"It's a pleasure to teach your son, madam," Thomas said; he didn't want to call her "Mrs Isaac" since she might have changed her name after divorcing her husband. "He is a huge talent. He will be the star of our play."

Newt's mother smiled at her son, obviously delighted to hear him being praised; that didn't seem to occur too often. Newt blushed a tiny bit, which made him look more beautiful than he already was, and Thomas felt the butterflies in his stomach go wild as the blond looked up at him from under his lashed. "Well, I can't wait to see the play, then, if the expert calls him a talent," the woman said, beaming, and Thomas couldn't help but feel that flirting came naturally to the members of the Isaac family.

Chuck interrupted the slightly weird situation by dashing towards them, then, his arm full of cookies and chips. Thomas had just enough time to catch Newt's bewildered facial expression before the little boy dumped all the snacks into his dad's shopping cart. "I think we're all set for movie night, dad," he stated before looking up to see his father wasn't actually alone. "Oh. Hello," he said in a shy but polite voice, glancing at Mrs Isaac with his big emerald eyes that he had inherited from Thomas.

"Hello, young man," the woman said, smiling at Chuck. When she looked back at Thomas, it was obvious that she was astonished by him having a child that tall; the young teacher might have been 34 as of August, but he certainly didn't look it. He got that often; in his early days of teaching, his colleagues would mistake him for a student, and even now, parents would think he was new to the job because of his boyish looks. It had annoyed him at first, but now he just found it entertaining. "My youngest," Thomas said as a way of shocking her, and really, her eyes widened even more when she saw Brenda walking towards them, her arms cradling lettuce, peppers and other vegetables. "Dad, you were supposed to- Oh." She saw Newt, and immediately her cheeks coloured. "I didn't know you were talking to someone." She didn't acknowledge the blond's presence further, and Newt seemed oblivious to the situation, his eyes trained on Thomas.

So there he was, staring at his daughter, who was staring at his teenage student whom he had kissed twice, who in turn was staring at him, just like said student's mother and his own son. And nobody said a single word. It was beyond stressful and awkward.

He had to do something.

Smiling brightly at Newt's mother, he said apologetically, "I'm afraid we must be going - Saturday grocery shopping with the children, you know." The woman nodded sympathetically. "Of course. I'm sorry if we kept you. It was good to meet you." They shook hands again, and it was as if all five of them had collectively taken a deep breath that this uncomfortable situation was about to be broken up. However, Thomas might just have been imagining it.

"Likewise. I will see you in class, Newt," he said, and he was glad that the blond didn't make to shake his hand - he didn't know if he could have pretended to be indifferent to his touch.

"Bye, Mister Edison," Newt said, and it was a blessing that at least one of them was a good actor.

The three Edisons watched the two Isaacs depart and walk round the corner in direction of the dairy products before anyone said anything.

"Oh my GOD that was Newton Isaac," Brenda pressed through her clenched teeth as soon as they were out of sight; Thomas had to supress the urge to tell her that actually, the boy preferred to be called Newt. "He is so incredibly hot and gorgeous and _British_ , and now he's seen me like _this_ ," she gestured to her outfit, "and now he's _never_ going to like me!" She sighed, clearly frustrated.

Thomas knew he had to be a supportive father in a situation like that. "Oh come on, you know that's not true. You look great, Bren." He actually really liked her _Catcher in the Rye_ sweatshirt (it said in big letters, "Holden Caulfield Thinks You're A Phony" - two points to himself for raising a literature nerd with impeccable taste in books.). "Also, I bet he didn't notice anything. He was most likely too weirded out about meeting his English teacher on a Saturday morning while wearing sweatpants." Well, there you go, there was at least some truth to those words.

"You think so?" Brenda looked up at her dad, uncertainty battling hope in her eyes.

"Absolutely," Thomas confirmed, nodding vigorously. "But maybe we should still try to beat them to the checkout."

His daughter nodded. "Alright. Let's get the remaining things and go home." And they did.

...

Thomas, Brenda and Chuck spent an hour in the kitchen, preparing the fajitas and different ingredients to fill them; they weren't exactly efficient, but they had the radio on quite loudly and were dancing along as they worked. Thomas had always thought it important to teach his kids to indulge in un-ironic appreciation, and so he too sang along to all the pop songs and let his daughter teach him a new step that was apparently hip with the cheerleaders. They goofed around, and the young father could see just how much his daughter had needed a day like this. Well, he was glad he could help her.

Brenda was cutting up peppers when a new song came on, and she squealed happily. "I really like this one!" she exclaimed and turned the volume up even more before singing along happily:

_"Maybe we're perfect strangers_  
Maybe it's not forever  
Maybe intellect will change us  
Maybe we'll stay together  
Maybe we'll walk away  
Maybe we'll realize  
We're only human  
Maybe we don't need no reason..." 

Thomas had heard this song before, but now it hit home. He had never attributed it to himself or Newt in anyway, but listening to the song now triggered some new feelings in him.

Maybe he and Newt were perfect strangers, destined to meet. Maybe a connection like the one he had felt with his student was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Thomas had always though the great love stories in the books wore mostly over-dramatized; sure, he loved Teresa, but she was more of a business partner and best friend these days than an actual love interest. Maybe that came with kids or time. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe...

_Maybe we'll realize we're only human..._

Was it normal to stray from the path of monogamy? It was normal to find other people attractive at times, right? That wasn't necessarily a bad thing?

Oh God, he _had_ strayed from the path of monogamy - strictly speaking, he had cheated on Teresa! He hadn't really, fully realized it until that moment. God, he really should stop thinking too much about this. It only led to anxiety.

"Dad, is that enough pepper?" Brenda interrupted his thoughts, and he was glad of it. The song had ended, and it was as if it'd never played. Checking the bowl, he nodded. "That's enough, Bren. Why don't you grab some plates and set the table?"

...

They spent a productive afternoon; all three of them did school work, sitting around the dining table, asking each other questions if they needed an opinion (or two, actually). Thomas had started this ritual when Brenda had been a small child; she had drawn or played "teacher" while he had corrected essays or prepared lessons, and now, he still did it with his two school-aged children.

When his phone rang, Thomas was surprised to see it was Teresa who was calling; she should have been home at four, and it was half past three - surely she wouldn't be late?

"Honey?" he said as he answered the call, "Is something wrong?"

"Good, Thomas, hi!" She sounded distracted, like she frequently did lately. "I'm just calling to tell you that I can't make tonight."

_What?_ Was she serious?! She had promised to take the night off for a family night!

"You can't make tonight?" he echoed, and both his kids looked up, anger and hurt on their faces (more anger in Brenda's case, more hurt in Chuck's).

"I know, it sucks. But I need to work. Tell the kids-"

"No, _you_ tell the kids," he interrupted her, "I am not going to tell them their mum doesn't have time for them."

"You're being unfair!" Teresa sounded hurt, but he really couldn't help himself - he was hurt as well. "I'm putting you on speaker."

He pushed the button and put his phone on the table. "Kids? It's mummy," Teresa's voice came out of the phone. Three Edisons stared at it.

"Listen, I am really sorry, my babies, but I can't be there tonight, I need to work. But I know you'll have a great time with dad-"

"But muuuuum," Chuck protested, " _Singing in the Rain_ is _your_ favourite movie! You can't miss it!" He seemed genuinely upset.

Brenda had a strict look on her face. "Mum, you're upsetting my little brother. That's _so_ not cool." She was staring the phone down as if it had offended her personally.

Teresa sounded exasperated when she answered. "I know, honey, but you enjoy the money I make, so don't be mad at me for working."

Thomas could see that these words would cause Brenda to explode, so he snatched up the phone and turned the speaker mode off. "It's okay, Teresa, I have it under control. Good luck with your work."

"Thanks." She sounded a bit relieved. "You're the best husband in the world."

"I know. Should I wait up?" It would have been a lie right now to call her the best wife, and he didn't enjoy lying to her any more than he already was, so he just didn't say it back.

"No, I don't know how long this is gonna take; there is something wrong with the building's structural engineering calculation and we need to fix this now."

"Sure. Have a good night."

"You too. Have fun with the kids. Tell them I love them."

"I will." Even though they might not enjoy hearing it that very moment, he had to console them; Thomas and Teresa were one team, and he couldn't have the children holding a grudge against their mother. He hung up.

Both his children seemed annoyed, but had gone back to quietly doing their homework. "Kids, your mum's really sorry about tonight," Thomas said, but neither of them looked up.

"Why does she never have time, dad?" Chuck asked, and Thomas could tell that the little boy was fighting back tears. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"Chuck, your mum loves you very much, it's just that her job is very important and challenging and it takes up a lot of her time right now. It's not that she wants to be away from us, she just has to." Saying those words, he realized he didn't know if Teresa didn't actually prefer working to family time.

Brenda snorted. "You're job is super important, too, and you've got time to make breakfast and cook for us and have movie nights and read seventy books a year and grade essays and prepare lessons and clean the house and you've been voted Best Teacher for four years in a row at school."

Chuck stared at Thomas, his eyes wide. "Daddy, are you Superman?"

Thomas chuckled. "No, honey, Superman is that British dude from _Immortals_."

"Right." Chuck didn't seem disappointed, just shrugged and went back to his homework.

The young father smiled at Brenda. "I appreciate your words, Bren, but let's not be mad at mummy, okay? We'll still have a great night. I promise." He was about to go back to his papers, fighting down the disappointment about Teresa's call, when he received a text.

_I'm a lonely boy..._

Newt. And a casual Black Keys reference because of the shirt Thomas had been wearing that morning. That boy seemed to have a sixth sense for when to text him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was typing an answer.

_Can I see you?_

Sent.

What was he doing? He really shouldn't be texting his student! Especially not messages like that! Was he out of his mind?!?

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now.

The answer came seconds later. An address, together with the words, _I'm alone._

Thomas gulped. _I'm alone_ sounded about as wrong as it could get.

He looked at the address again. The street was about a ten-minute drive from his house.

He felt torn. But if he was absolutely and completely honest with himself, there was nothing he wanted more than to see Newt at that moment.

Thomas looked up at his children. "Would you be okay if I went to see Minho for an hour or two? I'll be back in time to make guacamole, and if you want, I can pick up some spring rolls or sushi on the way?"

"SUSHI!" Brenda shouted, her head snapping upwards, her face eager. "Why are you even still here, dad? Go have fun!"

He smiled, but it felt uneasy. He had never lied to his daughter, not even when she had, aged four, asked him where babies came from. It had been uncomfortable, but Thomas had told her the truth. Unlike now.

And so he looked back at his phone, typed _10 minutes_ and, after grabbing his keys and a jacket, left the house.

Maybe it was wrong. But he had realized - he was only human. And he couldn't resist the temptation that was Newt Isaac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this, people! :)  
> And also hugs and kisses for your lovely feedback, I appreciate it a lot!! :)  
> If you want, come say hi on tumblr, my url is nerdylovelyme - you can also curse me for this cliffhanger there if you feel like it ;)  
> Loads of love and I'll update asap xx


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas visits Newt. Enough said.

Thomas couldn't really have said how he ended up in the right street, his car parked across from Newt's house. He must have acted as if on autopilot. Now there he was, the rain gently drumming against the windshield.

It was not too late yet. He could still turn around, leave, tell the kids Minho had been too busy. He didn't have to do this.

He didn't have to, but he _wanted_ to.

Nothing had to happen. They would just talk. Like friends. They could do that. Right?

Only, Thomas wasn't too sure.

He sat there, staring at the raindrops that were falling onto the glass, the gloom of the afternoon surrounding him like a cloud. It was almost as if he _was_ inside a raincloud, miles away from his normal life, his comfort zone, everything he knew.

What the hell was he doing there?!

Before he could change his mind, the passenger door opened, and Newt slipped into the car, sitting down next to him. All Thomas could do was stare. Talk about surprise.

Newt hadn't changed out of his sweatpants, and the light grey fabric featured dark little spots where raindrops had met with it. His blue long-sleeved shirt was also wet, and tiny, sparkly drops were caught in his blond hair, which was a mess, as usual. As Thomas raised his head to meet Newt's eyes, he saw that his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

He looked so beautiful it almost _hurt_.

Newt smiled. "I thought maybe you were having second thoughts," he said casually. "So here I am."

Thomas found his voice after a few seconds. "I don't think it'd look good if someone saw us sitting in a car together like this," he commented, frowning, which was hard, considering he was sitting next to the radiant beauty that was Newt Isaac.

Newt's smile widened into a cheeky grin. "My sentiments exactly," he agreed, "So - are you coming inside?"

Thomas blushed. The blond had planned this! But it was true - he was acting silly. It wouldn't hurt anyone if he went into the house. Nothing would happen. They hadn't even touched yet - and Thomas would see to it that it stayed that way.

Newt seemed to grow insecure. "I make a mean cup of tea," he said as a means of coaxing his English teacher into action, his grin shrinking into a timid smile, as if Thomas coming with him was the single most important thing to him and he was scared it wouldn't happen. It was this insecurity, this vulnerability, that changed Thomas' mind. It was something Newt hadn't really let him see before - at least not where he was concerned - and it felt honest and pure. Newt wanted him to come with him. Alright, so he would.

Thomas nodded. "Sure, tea sounds great."

Newt's smile grew again, reclaiming his face, and the young teacher's stomach exploded into a playground for butterflies. "Let's race, shall we? The rain is getting heavier."

Thomas had only time to nod before his student was out of the car and racing across the street. Grinning, he followed the blond across the empty road and along a path up to the front door. He caught up with him on the last meters and found himself in front of the door, eye to eye with a panting Newt, their lips only inches apart. He was breathing heavily, too, but not because of the sprint.

They stared at each other, shiny pearly of water decorating their hair, colour on their cheeks, the melody of the falling raindrops the soundtrack of their scene together. It felt surreal, like a movie; like that scene where the main character and the love interest were alone in the rain and couldn't get their car repaired until the morning and had to spend the night at an inn (so he had seen _27 Dresses_ \- so shucking what?!). Thomas shivered as he dropped his gaze to the freckles on Newt's nose - he was so close he could have easily counted them - to the rosy colour of his lips...

They couldn't kiss. Not like that, not out in the open. Hell, it wasn't like they could do it in private. But even less on the front steps of Newt's house.

"I win," Thomas whispered to ruin the moment, and it worked - Newt's shocked, breathless laughter snapped him out of his romantic stupor. "Only in your dreams," the blond answered cockily and opened the door. Seconds later, Thomas found himself in the hallway of a small, but unmistakably comfortable house. There were pictures on the wall of Newt and his mother, Newt and people who were probably his relatives, his mum with friends in front of European sights, and the walls were painted in a warm shade of yellow that gave the illusion of sunshine.

"Can I - can I take your jacket?" Newt asked, and all of a sudden, he seemed nervous, as if he were afraid Thomas would grade his private life, but he was sure this didn't have anything to do with the fact that they were teacher and student; the young father had the feeling that bringing any date here would have mad Newt edgy. (Not that this was a date.) Somehow, his home was something personal for the blond, and having Thomas there made him shy the way standing up on stage and having people scrutinize him should have but didn't.

Thomas smiled at him. "Thank you," he said, shaking off his leather jacket and kicking off his shoes. "This is so nice," he said, then, pointing to the collage on the wall, really meaning it.

Newt immediately seemed to relax a bit. "It's not much, but it's our home," he said, a tiny smile on his face. "Come on, let's get you that tea."

Thomas followed the blond into the kitchen, which was also warm and colourful and decorated with loads of pictures and post cards, and he couldn't help but feel at ease in a house where people obviously put up an effort to make it cosy. It also made him feel like his own home could use more pictures - maybe he should make it a project with the kids to go through old files and look for cute photographs. He shook his head; he shouldn't be thinking of his kids now. Wrong - he shouldn't be here at all. Thomas tried his best to fight down the anxiety he felt.

A picture of Newt, probably three years old, captured his attention, and he stepped closer to the little sideboard to properly look at it. Behind him, Newt was putting the kettle on - a proper British cattle, very vintage.

"God you're cute," it escaped Thomas' mouth as he examined the picture - tiny Newt had crooked teeth and bright blue wellies on his feet.

"I am? Oh, you mean that." The voice came closer, and suddenly, Thomas felt Newt take his hand - the one that wasn't holding the picture - from behind. He started and turned to find the blond yet again inches from his face. Newt was still holding his hand, and Thomas' hand was burning, melting, disintegrating in his grip. They stared at each other while behind them the water started to boil. Newt leaned closer, and Thomas felt himself start, but he didn't move away as the blond leaned his forehead against his own, making them touch. They shared another deep glance.

"I wanna kiss you so much it hurts, Tommy," Newt whispered, and the expression in his eyes looked so tormented it was heart-wrenching.

It was torture. This, right there, was pure torture. Thomas wanted nothing more than to oblige Newt, to kiss him, to kiss him until he was dizzy and had to gasp for air, to feel his skin against his, but he couldn't, he was married, but he wanted to, he wanted to so badly, and his forehead was still touching Newt's, and they were so close, and it was not enough in any way and still too much in every way.

"Me too," he managed, in a hoarse whisper. But he didn't lean in, and neither did Newt, as if he could feel his inner struggle, and what was more, understand it. Rain was still drumming against the windows, and Thomas suppressed a shiver.

That seemed to be Newt's call to action. "Gosh, your tea!" he exclaimed, hurrying over to the stove, and Thomas felt sort of lost in space without Newt to ground him, even though it was ridiculous. He watched Newt prepare two mugs of tea and a plate of cookies, which he put on a tray. "Come on," he prompted, and Thomas followed the blond into a cosy living room that was dominated by a comfortable-looking red sofa. The walls were again painted in a light shade of yellow, and they featured countless photographs as well as a substantial bookshelf. Again, Thomas couldn't help but feel at home.

Newt put the tray with the tea down on a little wooden table next to the couch and sat down. "Come here," he said softly, extending a hand towards Thomas, and, after hesitating briefly, the young English teacher sat down next to his student. He didn't touch him, though, even though he felt like a magnet drawn to iron, and neither did Newt, who hugged his knees.

They briefly sat in silence, but it didn't feel awkward. Then Newt said, "So... Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Thomas liked this Newt - the sensitive, thoughtful, kind version of the blond. Not that he didn't like the inquisitive, impulsive, highly talented actor Newt, because he did, but right now, he felt like Newt was the older one, and he was the one seeking advice. Well, at least the last part was true. However, Thomas was still his teacher, the grownup in the setting, and he should, if anything, at least use his words.

So he started talking. He told Newt about his wife and his kids and how he felt alone at home and neglected by his wife, who seemed to dump all the domestic work and everything involving the kids on him. He talked about how underappreciated he felt, and how hard it was to try and be perfect all the time. It all came surging out of him, like water out of a spring, and it was probably the most he'd ever talked outside of class.

And Newt listened. He sat there, chin on his knee, his eyes huge and understanding as he looked at Thomas, occasionally nodding. He never interrupted or prompted, he just listened, and he was fantastic at it.

Thomas didn't know when he'd started crying, probably when talking about this afternoon's events, and when his speech faltered, Newt sat up.

"Is it okay if I hug you?" he asked, and Thomas barely managed a nod before Newt pulled him close. 

The way Newt put his arms around Thomas wasn't the awkward guy-hug some men gave, or a crushing bear-hug that broke your ribs; Newt held Thomas the way you held a baby, a puppy, a kitten - something small, fragile, a creature that deserved to be protected. The young teacher didn't think someone had held him like that since he left kindergarten, and it felt amazing. Newt's hands were brushing over his back ever so slightly, and the tenderness of the embrace made Thomas forget all his tears and the butterflies go wild again.

"I'm so confused," he whispered, and he felt Newt nod. "That's okay," the blond whispered back, and when Thomas pulled away, Newt let him. He scrutinized him for a second. "I'm your first guy, aren't I?"

Thomas started; somehow, hearing the words out loud made the whole situation more real than the kisses he'd shared with Newt. Slowly, he nodded.

Newt smiled a tiny smile. "Well, it was kind of obvious. I'm honoured, though." He blushed, which made him look even more adorable than he already did. God, what was it about this boy?

"It was?" Thomas asked, his voice hoarse from talking and crying. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand.

Newt nodded. "Kind of." He leaned over to reach for the table and handed his teacher a mug. "Here," he said, "tea helps." Thomas accepted the mug, cradling it in his hands, but not drinking it. "So...," he started, "you are... Gay?" He was kind of uncomfortable asking this question, so he looked into his mug as if he could find all the answers to his troubles in it.

"Out and proud," Newt answered, and Thomas looked up to find his expression hadn't changed - he was still looking at him with affection. So maybe his question hadn't been as stupid as he had feared.

Thomas tried a weak smile. "Sonya will be disappointed," he rasped, quickly clearing his throat.

Newt laughed. "Poor Juliet, her Romeo is gay." They both chuckled, and the atmosphere grew lighter with it, less tragic.

Newt's smile turned goofily. "You still look gorgeous, even when you're crying," he said, and Thomas felt himself blush. "And you look so incredibly young, it's amazing. My mum thought you were some college boy I was flirting with."

Thomas, who had been about to take a sip of tea, lowered his mug again. "What? Really?" He laughed, incredulous.

Newt nodded. "She did. I mean, even I was shocked when I saw your daughter today, I had assumed she was your little sister..." His voice trailed off, and now he grabbed himself a mug, too, maybe just to hold something. They were facing each other, perfect reflections of each other the way they sat there, cradling their cups of tea. Thomas tried to fight down the thought that Brenda, his _daughter_ , fancied Newt, that she was the appropriate age group for him, not the young teacher himself. This was all so messed up.

Thomas looked down again. "I suppose I am older than I look," he said, and somehow, he felt bad; he wanted to be the young college guy he still was at heart - for Newt. It was pathetic, really, to be here; he was far too old for the boy! Not only that - he was also married! And Newt's teacher! Another wave of anxiety hit.

"Hey," he heard the blond say, his voice gentle. Then he felt a hand under his chin, tilting his head upwards so his gaze met Newt's incredible eyes. The blond just looked at him for a second before whispering, "I think you're perfect." And when he leaned in this time, Thomas just couldn't resist - he was charmed, bewitched, head over heels for this boy.

So their lips met, and Thomas was hyper aware of it; the way Newt's warm, soft lips melted against his own, the way his breathing quickened, the way the blond's hand felt against his cheek. It was a slow, gentle, sweet kiss, and when Newt broke it, he went on to kiss all the remnants of tears off Thomas' face, as gentle as a butterfly's wing beats. "You're perfect," he whispered again, and the brunet couldn't help but kiss him again. Newt was less gentle this time, and when his tongue slipped into Thomas' mouth, he welcomed it with a sort of suppressed groan.

Their kiss got more heated very quickly, with Newt's hand roaming his back and dipping to his hips, and Thomas had to force himself not to reach for the hem of Newt's shirt but break the kiss and give them both space to breathe.

They sat there, panting, looking at each other, and Thomas realised that his trousers felt rather tight over his groin. "What am I doing with my life?" he breathed, and looked at Newt. "Also, where did my mug go?"

"Here," Newt handed him the mug. "I saved it before I kissed you, or the sofa would be very wet right now."

"Good thinking."

Thomas took a sip of tea, and it was surprisingly delicious. He gave Newt an appreciative nod, who answered with a smirk. "We Brits and our tea," he just said, and Thomas nodded.

"No, wait," he then said, "I still don't know what I'm doing here. I can't be here." He jumped to his feet and started pacing the living room. "I'm married!"

Newt crossed his legs under himself and reached for his tea. "I know, Thomas," he said, but it didn't sound annoyed, and Thomas loved him for it.

"And I am cheating on my wife," he added, as if that wasn't plain obvious from his being in Newt's living room.

"I know," the blond said, and Thomas found that he actually looked sad. "I hate being the other man."

"Woman," Thomas corrected automatically, and Newt snorted. "Wait, has that happened before?"

"Excuse me," the blond huffed, "I'm not a serial home wrecker, Tommy! It's not my fault you're married _and_ irresistible!"

Thomas stopped pacing. "So what do we do?" he asked, looking at Newt for answers. When the young man didn't say anything, the English teacher took another sip of tea. It really _was_ good.

Newt was stirring his own mug. "I like you, Tommy. I really do. And I want you to be happy. And I am convinced, that I can make you happy, and I will try to show you." He looked up at Thomas from underneath those incredibly thick lashes, and Thomas' heart beat faster.

"And how..." He gulped. No, he had to stay strong. "I can't just leave my family for you, Newt. They are... My family." Ok so this came out less elaborate than expected. But Thomas didn't feel elaborate. He felt lost, torn, desperate. He enjoyed being with Newt, he craved it - but he couldn't just abandon all he had worked for during the last sixteen years.

Newt looked at him. "I know," he simply said. Then, "Come here." And Thomas re-joined him on the couch.

...

"I have to go," Thomas said, glancing at his watch.

Newt groaned. "Noooo," he protested from his place curled up against Thomas, his eyes closed. He looked like a kid who was woken by his mother in the morning for school.

God he was young.

But so perfect.

They had kissed for an eternity, but Thomas had insisted that all clothes stay on. He didn't know why, but the possibility of a naked or even semi-naked Newt made him nervous in ways he didn't understand, even though he wanted it more than he liked to acknowledge.

"I do," he said, beginning to sit up, while Newt stubbornly hugged his torso. "It's movie night with daddy, and I need to pick up take-out before."

Newt grinned up at him. "Can I call you daddy, too?"

Thomas blushed, but still rolled his eyes. "You're losing points there, Newton."

The blond laughed and let go of him to walk him to the door, and as soon as Thomas was wearing his shoes and leather jacket, it was time to stare at each other awkwardly.

"This was nice," Newt said finally when he apparently couldn't stand it anymore, and Thomas nodded. It was again silent.

"We should do this again?" the blond said, but it sounded more like a question, and the problem was that Thomas couldn't give him a definite answer. "I would like that," he thus said, which was apparently good enough for Newt, who smiled and leaned in to kiss him again.

Thomas would have fought it, but he was weak, and so he let himself be kissed, becoming an adulterer yet again. But he didn't know how to resist this beautiful young man.

"I'll see you on Monday," Newt whispered, and Thomas just nodded. Right, he would have to teach Newt on Monday. And on Tuesday. And every for the rest of the year after that. What could possibly go wrong.

"Have a good evening," Thomas said and smiled, forcing himself to keep it together until he was in the car. And it wasn't that he hadn't loved his time with Newt. It was just that at the back of his head, there was the knowledge that what he was doing was wrong.

...

Thomas arrived home in time for the movie night, lots of Asian takeout riding shotgun next to him. His kids would be ecstatic, and he was actually looking forward to spending the evening with them. This was simple.

Newt was not.

Anxiety had hit Thomas badly just a moment ago, and now he was in the car, which was already parked in the driveway, trying to get his act together. What was done, was done. He couldn't change it now. He would have to try and pull himself together for his kids now. Newt would have to take the back of his head now, the spot his family had occupied for the last two hours.

Newt hadn't made him promise anything, and they both knew they would see each other again in ways that were very different from what their relationship was supposed to be. Even though Thomas didn't want to cheat, he would do it again. Just - who was he kidding; he would try to resist him _again_ and he would fail _again_. There was just something about Newt that made him crazy. He desired him in a way he had never desired anyone else.

That didn't make it easier in any way. If this were a book, he would be rooting for the unhappy family father to leave his estranged wife and run away with the hot young guy. But this was real life. _His_ life. And it seemed that no matter he was doing, he was messing up big time.

It was just that the thought of not seeing Newt this way anymore, not kissing him anymore, was like a fist punch in the guts.

_Enough._ He couldn't change that now.

Thomas grabbed the bag and opened the car door. It was time to get back to his life as a loving family father, away from his wild side, where he made out with his student and would probably have to jerk off tonight thinking of him, because all those kisses had built up a pressure that needed a release.

Thomas didn't know if this double-life would work out for him. But at this point, he at least had to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> I'm so sorry for this late update, exams were crazy and I got ill, too, so I'm very behind and please don't murder me.  
> I'm not too happy with this chapter, I don't know why, but I still hope you'll enjoy the Newtmas. I do :)  
> As always, talk to me, I'm happy to read your thoughts here or on tumblr (nerdylovelyme) :)  
> Loads of love and ttys xxx


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Teresa have a huge fight, and guess who consoles Thomas...

Thomas woke up to darkness. Somehow, despite the fact that he didn’t see anything, he knew he was not lying in his bed, and that made him feel disoriented. Why would he be anywhere _but_ in his bed?

And then he remembered. The movie night. And, of course, his two hours with Newt.

_Newt._

In a desperate attempt to get his mind off his charming and irresistible student, Thomas had allowed his kids to stay up late, watching musicals with them. Chuck had been delighted, and so they had watched and _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ \- it had been the little boy’s first time dancing the Time Warp to the actual movie – and _Mamma Mia_ , and when his kids had both fallen asleep during Abba’s „The Winner Takes It All“, Thomas had put blankets over them and finally nodded off as well – or so it seemed.

So there he was, on the couch, under a cuddly blanket, surrounded by his children, who were breathing deeply and regularly. Whether Teresa had come home, he couldn’t have said – he hadn’t heard anything, and surely, he would have heard? If not, they should probably get a dog to guard their home. Not that they had anything special to be guarded. He checked himself; that wasn’t the point right now.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, Thomas got up and tiptoed across the living room space and towards the front door; he could only turn on the little light next to the entrance door so as to not wake the children, but that was all he needed. Teresa’s shoes weren’t there – she hadn’t come home yet.

Thomas turned off the light and waited for a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the darkness once more. Then he slowly made his way into the kitchen for a drink of water and to check the time. He guessed he’d fallen asleep around one in the morning; now it was a few minutes past three a.m.

Thomas stared at the clock on the wall. Surely there was no way - _no way_ that Teresa was still at work in the small morning hours? He shook his head. That woman would work herself to death if she didn’t start to pick up a regular sleeping pattern again soon. 

The young teacher finished his water, turned off the kitchen lights and walked back to the couch; it wasn’t uncomfortable to sleep there, and there was no way he would leave his kids alone, who would possibly be as confused as he had been when they woke up. So once again he slid under his blanket and put his head down onto one of their many colourful cushions which looked all black in the darkness. It really _was_ comfortable – he had enough space but still felt his kids vaguely next to him, and the fluffy sofa blanket was just on the right side of warm without being too hot. This was nice. Really, they should go back to the time of family sleepovers.

_Family sleepovers._

Thomas froze. _What if Teresa was sleeping somewhere else?_

He shook his head. Teresa wouldn’t cheat on him.

_Wouldn’t she?_ He had always thought _he_ would never cheat. And there he was, making out with one of his students in school hallways. Visiting this student at home. It was therefore save to say that what Thomas thought of himself (or others, for that matter) probably didn’t have to be true.

But would Teresa do the same? The young teacher had always thought that the two of them were in this together for good. Forever, a happy family until they died _The Notebook_ style many years from now. But what if that wasn’t the plan, what if they weren’t meant to live happily ever after together? They’d had a good past and a pretty good now (okay, an acceptable now), so maybe a happy future just wasn’t in their stars? Maybe Teresa had met someone, just like he had, someone who was possibly worth abandoning everything for.

Thomas was astonished to find that this thought hurt him; the idea of Teresa kissing another man (or woman) took his breath away, and anger gathered in the pit of his stomach. A second later, shame took its place; he was a hypocrite to think that way. How was it any less hurtful when he held someone else than when Teresa did it? How could he think that his adultery was somehow justified when it wasn’t? Because he felt something he hadn’t felt before?

Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe Thomas was secretly hoping for Teresa to be unfaithful so he could feel better about his own betrayal. It was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic.

What he was doing was wrong.

But even so, wasn’t Teresa also wrong? To abandon her family like that? To prefer working late even on weekends over watching musicals with her children? To possibly sleep at some other place when she should have been there, with husband and kids?

Maybe Thomas was being unfair, but he felt like Teresa was betraying him anyway. With her job. When they’d started dating in college, he never thought she would spend Saturday nights working. This wasn’t what he had signed up for.

So what if he made out with a student? It wasn’t like he could get Newt pregnant. Who would ever know?

A second later, he was again disgusted at himself for his thoughts. Man, this really was a rollercoaster. But Newt always waited on top. He would be worth all the lows. Probably. If Thomas decided to continue this relationship. Which was practically a given.

Newt… What did he even know about Newt, apart from the fact that he felt strongly about Hamlet being an idiot and all his insights on Romeo’s most intimate feelings? Well… Not much, he had to admit. Thomas didn’t feel good about that realisation. He should take his time to get to know Newt, talk to him about his interests, learn what got his eyes shining with excitement or resentment. That way, they would also be less tempted to make out. Probably. If there was a table between them. No, but in all seriousness – he owed it to Newt to appreciate him for all that he was, to discover all his facets. And he wanted to know more; did Newt prefer to shower in the morning or at night? How did he drink his coffee? Those were questions he wanted answered – because the blond meant something to him. The young teacher made the plan to communicate his thoughts to Newt – maybe he would agree.

Thomas nodded to himself in approval, which was admittedly a strange thing to do at 3:30 in the morning in complete darkness. He would get to know Newt, not treat him like a young mistress. That’s not at all what he wanted – he hadn’t chosen the boy in any way; this wasn’t some sort of midlife crisis where he needed to have sex with a young blond hottie in order to not forget about his manliness or whatever it was men with midlife crises did. God, hopefully he wasn’t already in the middle of his life! Thomas pushed that thought far away – nightly anxiety about death was not something he wanted to indulge in now. He was trying to make a plan.

_1\. Get to know Newt better_  
2\. Make out less with him until I kind of know what I want  
3\. Find out what Teresa was up to tonight 

There, that sounded good – well, if you didn’t consider the second point. Thomas was extremely bad at knowing what he wanted and always desperate to guarantee his loved ones were happy. He could never hurt Teresa in any way. Well, scratch that last, because he was hurting her through his actions; she just didn’t know about it.

Thomas looked over at Chuck, who was fast asleep. His kids meant so much to him, and he would never give them up. But did he have to? What if both he and Teresa found someone else – could they all be happy, like one of those huge modern families you saw on TV? Was that even an option? He had never asked Newt if he even liked kids. Was Newt too young for that? He hadn’t been much older when he had become a dad for the first time. Was he even still making sense in that sleepy brain of his?

The young teacher sighed and adjusted his pillow. These were no questions he would solve right now, so he might as well go to sleep. And all three points on his plan required for it to be day as well, so there really was no point in staying awake.

And, lying on the couch between his two sleeping children, he sunk into a deep slumber once more.

…

Thomas woke again when he heard Chuck’s voice, “Mum!” Next, he felt a chilliness that was only brought into a house by an open door on an early morning in late October, and he sat up to find that his son was already in the same position, glancing up at his mother, who was clearly trying to sneak into the house.

Thomas took a proud second to imagine Chuck as a father waiting up for his partying kids.

“Mum,” Chuck said again, and he sounded more astonished than anything else, “what are you doing?”

Teresa just stood there, keys in hands, clearly wearing yesterday’s clothes. Judging by the light, it couldn’t be much later than seven. So she had tried to sneak into bed before anyone was up and had ended up getting caught red-handed by her seven year old son.

“I… I wanted to go to baker’s, get us something nice for breakfast,” she said, but it didn’t sound very sincere – she was clearly exhausted. A glance at Chuck told him that the little boy didn’t believe his mother one word – just like her husband. But other than Thomas, Chuck just seemed confused.

“Teresa, can we maybe talk about this upstairs?” Thomas asked, and he saw her eyebrows rising. “Fine,” she answered and led the way upstairs; the young father, however, took a moment to kiss Chuck on the forehead. “Why don’t you take a little nap, sweetie, and when mum and dad have finished their talk I’m going to fry us some bacon and make a great breakfast. Sound good?” He tried to sound as up-beat as possible, but Chuck saw right through him.

“Daddy, you can be upset mummy didn’t watch with us, that’s okay,” he said and patted his arm in a caring way that almost made Thomas tear up.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said, and then turned to follow his wife upstairs. Brenda, impossibly, had slept through the commotion.

Thomas found Teresa in their bedroom; she was half-undressed, in her underwear and blouse, apparently getting ready to take a shower. He closed the door behind himself and then leaned against it, waiting for her to start the conversation.

Teresa turned around, and her eyes were defensive, as if he had just accused her of something. “Are you really going to make a scene because I fell asleep at my desk? Cause believe me, my back is killing me.” She stood for a second, then went on to rummage through her closet, possibly looking for something to wear after her shower.

Thomas didn’t like how the discussion had started, but he decided to let it go for the sake of the family peace. “No, I’m not going to make a scene. I just want to communicate that I was worried, that I think you work too much and that I think you don’t have enough time left for the family.”

Teresa blushed with anger. “I know you think that, Thomas, because that’s all I ever get from you lately! I’m working my ass off building that stupid complex, and all I ever get from you is resentment for it!” Her voice had got loud, and she checked herself now, closing her mouth to inhale deeply through her nostrils.

Her husband threw up his hands in exasperation. “What do you want me to say? That I am proud of you? Hell, Tessa, I am fiercely proud of my beautiful, smart, successful wife! I just hardly ever see her, and the kids are suffering as well! They are used to having her mummy around in the evening and on weekends! And as far as my occupation is concerned – I never receive any credit from you for teaching those teenaged weirdos empathy and grammar, either! But do I spend my Saturday nights at school? No, I don’t!”

Teresa stared at him in disbelief. “Excuse me? I am responsible for this project – that’s a job that follows me home! I-”

Thomas cut her off. “You think teaching doesn’t follow me home? You don’t think I get phone calls from parents who want to talk grades or texts from my Romeo or my Mercutio who need to know how the stress some damned line? And when do I plan my lessons if not in my time at home while watching Chuck?”

Teresa shook her head. “That’s not the same, and you know it. It’s not that your job isn’t important-”

“It is important.”

She sighed. “I know! But you don’t have to coordinate tons of stuff all the time!”

“So let your secretary do it!” He was getting more frustrated by the second. “I bet she doesn’t sleep at the firm. Unless…”

Teresa stared. “Unless what?” she asked, and her voice was silent and dangerous.

Thomas decided in a split second that yes, he wanted to say it, so he went for it: “Unless you have other reasons to spend the night somewhere else.”

His wife looked at him, and all the traces of fatigue had left her face; there was nothing left but anger. “So that’s your glorious conclusion, huh?” she sneered. “Just because I have a career, you think I’m unfaithful to you? That’s just perfect, Tom, just perfect. How about you get used to this situation because I’m not gonna change my job just because you can’t deal with a household!”

That was too much for Thomas. He stared at Teresa for a few seconds while her words hung between them like dark clouds.

And then he turned and left the room.

…

A few years ago, a student had vomited onto Thomas’ shirt – an incident he didn’t like to remember – and ever since that time he’d had a change of clothes and toiletries at school so could clean up and change there should he ever need to.

That came in handy because as he left his house with only his car keys, phone, wallet and a jacket, he was still wearing his sweatpants and shirt he had slept in.

So for lack of better options he went to school. The parking lot was empty, as he had known it would be, and after parking a car, he sprinted up the steps to the main entrance and unlocked it. Thank goodness Mr Einstein had given all those teachers who taught extracurricular activities the complete set of school keys.

Thomas walked through the dim hallways towards the staff room. It was eerily quiet, but also peaceful – exactly what he needed to clear his head after his fight with Teresa. Normally it wasn’t like him to simply run away after a conflict – well, it kind of was, but usually he would just leave the room and cool off for a few minutes.

Not today, though. Today he had had too much. He needed a bit of time to himself, at a place where his job was appreciated – school. He didn’t want to think about what had happened, how everything he had been so sure of for years was beginning to fall apart; no, he just wanted to do something he was good at. Like preparing classes, for example.

He reached the staff room and got his little emergency bag out – it contained boxer shorts, socks, a clean blue shirt he’d accidentally purchased twice and jeans that were fine but nothing special as well as a towel and shower gel. Thankfully, he didn’t have to go to the gym to shower; there were in fact teacher showering facilities in his school, a circumstance that Minho had abused on more than one occasion. Thomas smiled to himself. Minho. He had been so right, and Thomas had been rude to him. Sure, Minho had been rude as well, but he had meant well. He should probably call the coach, have a beer and a talk. And he would – but not at 7:45 in the morning on a Sunday.

Thomas took a quick shower and put on his clean clothes before hitting up the coffee maker and brewing himself a big cup. He hadn’t exactly had much sleep last night, so he would need the caffeine. Grabbing his cup, he left the staff room again for his classroom. The English classroom was, apart from the auditorium, his favourite room in the building, and he was slightly scared that he would feel lonely sitting in the huge auditorium by himself. His classroom, however, was a sanctuary, and the books he kept there would have been enough to keep him company for hours, if not days. So he walked to his classroom, unlocked the door and took in the dark, empty room for a second before turning on the light, closing the door and sitting down in his chair.

There was enough to do for him, and so Thomas sipped his coffee while designing a check-up for his sophomore class and brainstorming exam questions for the juniors. His mood was beginning to improve as his phone vibrated. He was determined not to check it – he didn’t want to read any message designed by Teresa to make him come back, not when he was trying to put himself back together – but then he did. And it wasn’t disappointing, because it wasn’t Teresa, it was Newt.

_Are you okay?_

Thomas stared at the screen. Was it possible that he _knew_? Like, in some weird way? Could Newt somehow have guessed that he wasn’t doing too well? Empathy, Telepathy, whatever?

Thomas quickly typed an answer.

_Not really. Big fight at home. I’m at school._

Newt took even less time to answer.

_I’ll be there in 20._

Just like that. Newt had guessed that something wasn’t right, and now he was taking action. Thomas actually had to fight tears. How on earth did he deserve someone like that?

_It’s open._

After answering, he went back to his work, but it was hard to concentrate with all those emotions clouding his mind. Anxiety, joy, anger, desperation. They were all there, and they made it hard to focus on _To Kill A Mockingbird_.

It was closer to half an hour when Thomas finally heard the door open and Newt was standing there, wearing tartan sweatpants and a grey hoodie, his hair a birds nest, a tote bag in hand. He looked the perfect picture of comfort, and Thomas simply couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I didn’t find you right away,” the boy said by way of greeting, then he closed the door behind himself. He grabbed a chair and drew it towards the teacher’s desk before putting the bag down in front of Thomas. “I thought you might want some breakfast,” he said, looking reluctant and incredibly sweet, obviously unsure whether he should touch Thomas.

Thomas’ heart broke a little, watching him. “Thank you,” he said, and when Newt had sat down, he leaned over to peck him on the cheek. The blond smelled like he always did, like his body spray and also a bit like freshly made tea, and the smell alone calmed the young teacher down immediately. Newt blushed, which made him look even more beautiful, if that was even possible.

“I didn’t know what you would want, so I simply got a variety of things,” the blond explained as a way of pretending he wasn’t embarrassed, and started to pull boxes and bags of food from the bag. He had brought one lunchbox with cut-up fruit and one with self-made cake (“Yes, I bake,” he freely admitted, though he again blushed a bit), two salmon bagels, peanut butter, more bagels and Danish pastries and doughnuts which were apparently fresh from the baker’s.

“That looks like a proper picnic,” Thomas said, stunned. “You are amazing, do you know that?”

Newt grinned his cocky grin that Thomas loved so much. “I do. Now why don’t you get me some coffee?”

Thomas grinned back. “Bossy,” he said, his mood suddenly light with Newt’s arrival. “On my way.”

Before leaving the room, he stopped. “Newt?”

The blond half turned to glance at him. “Yeah?”

Thomas took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about what happened. Can we maybe just spend some time together, you know, drama-free?”

The boy hesitated, then smiled. “Sure.”

“Thank you. Again.” 

“You’re welcome. Always.” They shared a glance, and Thomas wanted nothing more than to pull Newt into his arms, and he crossed the space between them to do just that. They hugged, and at the touch, the blond exhaled a sigh of content, as if he had craved the touch ever since Thomas had left the previous night. And maybe it was just that. At least for Thomas, it was. He never wanted to let go. But honestly, he was pretty hungry. So he pressed a kiss to Newt’s temple, released him, and smiled. Newt smiled back, in that dazzling way that only he knew.

And then Thomas left to get Newt a cup of coffee and to lock the main entrance. Because the last thing he wanted was for someone to burst in when he was about to get to know this wonderful young man better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys!  
> My laptop is still broken, that's what it took me ages to update - and I also had to celebrate my birthday :)  
> I hope you liked the chapter, talk to me in the comments or over on tumblr, I'd love to hear your opinions :)  
> Thanks again for being so patient!!  
> Loads of love xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newtmas fluff happens, because we all need that - especially Thomas.

"So tell me," Thomas said when Newt was holding a steaming mug of coffee and he was sitting down on the chair opposite him.

"Tell you what?" the blond asked, helping himself to a bagel.

Thomas smiled. "Everything. The last great book you've read. What makes you happy. The songs that you sing at the top of your lungs when nobody's around. I-" He took a deep breath. "I wanna know you, Newt. I mean _really_ know you." He dared himself not to look away, to wait for the young man to meet his gaze.

Finally, Newt looked up, and there was a softness to his face that made Thomas' heart beat faster. He nodded. "Alright," he answered. A tiny smile on his lips, the blond took a sip of his coffee before leaning back and putting his legs up on Thomas' chair. Honestly, he looked so cool all the time, the young teacher had a hard time not being envious. He awkwardly mirrored the movement, so that their legs were parallel, Newt's feet to his right on his chair, Thomas' feet to Newt's right on Newt's chair.

The blond grinned. "What was the first question again?" He seemed to be enjoying himself, and Thomas was glad. As badly as his day had started out, this was nice. More than nice. This was lovely, extremely so.

A tiny blush crept over his face. "I think it was _The last great book you've read_ , but just go ahead, tell me whatever you want." He wouldn't have minded if Newt had read out his To Do lists to him, really, as long as he got to know him better in the process.

Newt didn't seem to need to think about that question. "Definitely _The Lover's Dictionary_ by David Levithan. Do you know him? He is easily one of my favourite authors of all time." His dark eyes had a certain gleam to them as he spoke, which Thomas found extremely attractive. As someone who had studied English literature, he had a soft spot for everyone who could geek out over a good book.

Thomas nodded. "I read _Every Day_ some time ago, and I really loved the concept of it."

Newt nodded as well, appreciation obvious on his face. "Yes, I liked that too, but I think his other books don't get the hype they would deserve. He writes about gay characters, which I find extremely appealing, and he has a way of seeing that the world is maybe broken but still beautiful. I don't know, I find it difficult to explain." The young man shrugged. "Anyway, _The Lover's Dictionary_ is created like a real dictionary, with entries to specific words, in alphabetical order. I think you'd like that, since you're such a fan of language." Newt smiled teasingly, but there was nothing mean about it - just the honest notion that Thomas might like the book.

The young teacher didn't know what to do with all his feelings, so he just nodded. "I'll buy it tomorrow."

Newt smiled. "That's cute." He seemed to be fighting a blush, which again Thomas found adorable. God, they were dorky! "But all his books are great, really. And I think..." he seemed to pause in order to ponder if it was okay to go ahead and say what he was thinking, and apparently decided that it was, "I think they might help you look at your sexuality in a different way. They did for me."

Thomas fought the panic-y feeling that always seemed to get hold of him when his sexuality was addressed, but he knew that Newt really did mean well. So all he did was smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Newt seemed relieved that his comment hadn't hurt Thomas, and he finally took a bite of his bagel. "So tell me," he said, repeating what his English teacher had said earlier, "do you read Shakespeare and Bronte and all that, like, for pleasure as well? Or do you binge-read Scandinavian crime fiction?" It was always difficult to tell if the blond was just being sassy or honestly interested, but Thomas decided to just assume the best and answer everything he'd ask as best as he could.

He thought for a moment. "I suppose it depends on the book," he said. "I mean, I don't know anyone who would read _The Scarlet Letter_ several times for pleasure. I read it once in university and I brush up my knowledge of it if I teach it, but mostly, I just read whatever I like. I _have_ read Shakespeare for pleasure, but not all his plays. I am really not too keen on _The Tempest_ or _The Merchant of Venice_ , for example. I do like Scandinavian crime fiction, though, from time to time." He grinned. "And what about you? Have you always wanted to act?"

Newt nodded. "Pretty much, yeah. Whenever we could, my mum would take me to the West End to see plays. Mostly musicals when I was little, and I really enjoyed those, still do, but somehow I feel..." He seemed to be looking for the right words. "Somehow they tend to be too happy for my taste. Like, I enjoy a good happy ending as much as the next boy does, but somehow, all that singing and dancing makes even the saddest story lose a bit of its seriousness. I mean, I still love watching them, I just wouldn't want to be in them." He grinned. "Also, I'm not the best singer."

Thomas nodded. "I get that. Music tends to lighten up the mood, and musicals are often designed to be humorous." A grin crept over his face. "So you sing musical numbers in the shower?"

The smile on Newt's face was diabolical. "Book of Mormon. Always."

The two of them chuckled until Newt gasped. "You haven't had a bite yet, Tommy, please, help yourself!" He grabbed the box containing the self-made cake and practically shoved it in Thomas' face so that he could do nothing but take a piece.

"Victoria sandwich," Newt proudly explained as his English teacher took a bite. "A Mary Berry recipe." Thomas' face was apparently one big question mark so Newt just waved it off and muttered something about "Americans" under his breath.

The cake tasted brilliant, it was sweet and moist and filled with marmalade and some kind of butter cream, and as Newt was carefully watching him in order to measure his reaction, he gave him a thumbs-up. "Delicious," he managed before quickly taking another bite. He really _was_ famished - why hadn't he noticed that before?

Oh yeah, because of shucking _Newt_ in all his perfection with his talk of books and his tartan sweatpants, that's why.

"Do you miss England?" he managed to choke out in between bites, and Newt rolled his eyes, pretending to be appalled at his manners.

"I do," Newt answered, and he seemed very sincere. "It's just too bad that we moved the the US because of my father's job as a surgeon and now he sleeps with nurses half his age just because he can." He shrugged it off, but Thomas knew that he was not okay with it. "I miss a lot of things about Europe - the fact that you travel for just a few hours and encounter a totally different culture and language, for example. You just don't get that here." He paused for a few seconds, then shrugged again and took another bite. "On the upside, though, I've met you." His smile was so dazzling Thomas might have needed sunglasses, and he felt himself blush.

He felt a bit weird, though, because of what Newt had said. "I'm sorry I'm practically doing the same thing your father did," he whispered, looking at his hands. It was silent for a moment, then he felt a hand sneak under his chin to gently lift it. He met Newt's eyes, trying to ignore how nervous his touch made him; he was positively buzzing with awareness of the blond's skin on his.

"Tommy," Newt said lowly, "that's not true. You're not shagging nurses by the dozen just because you can. We kissed because we know that there is something special between us. Real feelings. Right?" Thomas didn't want to talk specifics at the moment, so he was glad Newt hadn't used the word _love_ \- but all he had said was true, so he nodded.

"See?" Newt cooed. "That's not the same, baby." He leaned back again to give Thomas his space. "Plus, apart from the fact that I am your only... Distraction, I am not half you age."

Thomas laughed. "Well, you kind of are."

Newt's eyes grew wide. "What? You look twenty-eight - thirty on a bad day."

Thomas couldn't help but laugh again - he was always so amused by people reacting to his age like that. _Thirty on a bad day._ Meet Newt, King of Sass. "I have a daughter in sophomore year, remember?"

The blond seemed to be doing the math in his head really quickly. "Wow... You're either a really young dad or you _really_ look young. Which is it?"

Thomas shrugged. "A combination of both, I guess. I was nineteen when Brenda was born, and I'm thirty-four now."

Newt furrowed his brows. "Nineteen? And that was planned?" He seemed to be genuinely curious - of course he would be, being eighteen himself; the possibility of becoming a dad within the year must have seemed terrifying.

Thomas laughed again - God, it felt good to laugh! "Not at all. Teresa and I had been dating for half a year when she found out she was pregnant. Her birth control failed because of some antibiotics she took. So yeah, that was that, she was pregnant, and we were really in love, so we thought we could handle it. And we could, too. It was exhausting but fun, living in a tiny apartment with our daughter - we still had a great time in college, went to parties, got our studying done. We just didn't sleep a lot. And we had great friends who helped us out." He smiled at the memories. "That whole experience really brought us incredibly close together, because honestly, in the beginning, I couldn't see myself with her forever. Then I thought, oh well, we're such a great team... So we stayed together. And we were happy. We graduated, got married, built a house, had a second child. And it was really good, up to..." He paused to really think about it. "Up to probably a few years ago. Then Teresa started to get more and more obsessed with her career. I had always spent more time with the kids, so I was fine doing all the laundry and the cooking and the primary school events and the kindergarten Halloween parties... I'm glad I get to spend so much time watching the kids grow up. It's just... We, as a couple, we don't really work anymore. I don't think Teresa doesn't love me - she just has other priorities now, and I'm simply not one of them. Not anymore." Thomas stopped. "God I'm so sorry for dumping all of that onto you just now. I don't... I've never told anyone." He smiled apologetically, but Newt didn't seem annoyed or bored. The blond was looking at him in a way that conveyed understanding and alertness.

"It's fine, Tommy," he said, and Thomas was again surprised by how much he loved him saying that nickname. "We all have our emotional baggage and our history. That doesn't matter. Please feel free to talk about whatever you want."

Something about that statement made Thomas almost tear up. "I know, but this morning was supposed to be about me and you."

Newt reached forward to put a hand on Thomas' knee. "It still is, Tommy. Your family is a part of you, and I would never want to change that." He squeezed Thomas knee again, and somehow, Thomas couldn't resist the temptation any longer. "Come here," he whispered, and Newt was on his lap mere seconds later, straddling him.

They had kissed before, but never like this. Their kisses had been soft, timid, slow, maybe even eager. This kiss was messy, fast, burning with the fire of a thousand suns. When Newt's tongue slipped into his mouth, Thomas didn't panic, but he welcomed it, eagerly kissing the blond back, and Newt groaned low at the back of his throat, a sound that sent shivers down the young teacher's spine. His hands found Newt's hips where they settled, and the blond saw it as an invitation to start moving against him, rubbing his groin against Thomas'. Now it was his turn to moan - he was hard in a matter of seconds, and oh God, what were they doing, making out, teacher and student, in the English classroom at nine in the morning on a Sunday?

The thing was - he didn't feel like stopping, though.

Newt bit his lip, and Thomas groaned again. "Can I touch you?" the blond whispered in a hoarse and incredibly sexy way that made Thomas' stomach melt. "I really want to."

Thomas knew that the correct way was to say no, to not let this get out of hand, but he couldn't be the sensible one, not now, not this time.

"Only if I get to touch you," he answered, and Newt pulled back for a second, staring at him in awe, before nodding so eagerly it would have been funny in a situation characterized by less sexual tension. "Of course," he whispered, and as he leaned in for another desperate kiss, Newt grabbed his hand and led it into his sweatpants.

Thomas had never made any gay experiences before - hell, Teresa had been one of two women he'd ever slept with - and so it was definitely a bit weird and unfamiliar to reach into his make-out-partner's pants and find a dick there, but it was just as exciting, especially since he could feel Newt mirroring his own movements. He got a firm hold of Newt's member, and he couldn't help but break the kiss - he wanted to see.

Thomas leaned his forehead against Newt's and opened his eyes to look at the blond, who looked extremely dishevelled and incredibly turned-on - an erotic sight if ever there was one. He glanced down, and the size of Newt's cock surprised him, but that didn't stop him from spitting into his own hand and starting to jerk him off. Newt groaned with pleasure before starting to work on Thomas' dick, and the young English teacher couldn't help the whine that escaped his throat. Newt had obviously done this before, with other men, and he was incredibly good at it; Thomas surely wouldn't last long. Newt was kissing him again, with lots of tongue and teeth, and it was the sexiest experience Thomas had ever made.

"God you're big," Newt murmured into his ear at some point. "I can't wait to suck that cock some time. Maybe backstage, when we're completely alone. I've fantasized about that. Would you like that, Tommy, would you like me sucking your dick on the empty stage of the auditorium?" Thomas didn't know where Newt had got that dirty mouth from, but the blond whispering those fantasies to him sparked new heights in his arousal, and he simply whispered, "Yes."

Newt bit his earlobe. "I thought so," he murmured. "I thought you might like me on my knees in front of you." Thomas moaned loudly and doubled his efforts jerking off Newt - he didn't want to finish alone.

The blond moaned. "Yes, just like that!" he exclaimed, and his voice, rough with passion, was what drove Thomas over the edge. He came with deep groan that must have sounded ridiculous, but Newt followed a few seconds later, so it couldn't have been that bad.

They remained like that for a long moment, their sticky hands wrapped around the other one's already softening member, their sweaty foreheads leaned together, gasping for air. Thomas couldn't remember the last time an orgasm had felt so good. Maybe it never had.

When Thomas opened his eyes, he found Newt looking at him. Those huge, dark eyes looked so euphoric, Thomas couldn't help but smile.

"That was really good," Newt whispered, and a shy smile appeared on his face. "Was it okay for you?"

Thomas tried a nod, but that didn't really work with their heads leaning together. "It was really hot," he admitted, his already flushed cheeks probably deepening in colour. "But we should maybe get cleaned up."

Newt pressed a kiss to his lips, and Thomas kissed him back immediately. "Yes, maybe we should do that."

...

An hour later, Thomas was alone again. Newt had gone home so he'd be back by the time his mum would be awake, but not before they'd finished all the food, talked a bit more and kissed a lot more. Now Thomas was looking at Newt's empty chair; nothing in the room suggested that anyone but the young teacher had spent the morning here. It was probably time for Thomas to go home, but he needed to think about what had happened first, get a grip on himself.

He felt bad about what had happened. Not that he hadn't liked it. He had _loved_ it. His first gay encounter. It had been spectacular. He didn't regret it at all. Sure, the thought of doing potential damage to his marriage terrified him. But not as much as it used to. Not as much as it should have. Because really, this morning's fight might have done more damage than fooling around with Newt.

It was fairly obvious by now that he wasn't as straight as he had always thought he was. It felt weird to admit that to himself - he had been suspecting it for weeks, obviously, but now that he had touched another man and had _been_ touched by another man, giving him the best orgasm he'd ever had, he was certain of it. Somehow, he felt relieved, easier than he had before. Sure, there was a lot of guilt in his stomach - but also enthusiasm. Desire. Affection for Newt.

Basically, there was a bit less anxiety now, but now there was more guilt. Well done, Edison.

Oh well, he'd just have to see how things would play out. He had never been one to overthink stuff.

Thomas got up and grabbed his bag. It was time to go home and see to it that his kids got a good lunch. Because no matter how mad he was at Teresa, he wouldn't abandon his children.

...

When he came back home, Brenda and Chuck were watching _How To Train Your Dragon_ , and Teresa, the kids told him, was working in her study.

"I'm sorry I left, kids," he told them, sitting next to them on the couch, watching Toothless fly across Berk. "I was just really angry and I needed to calm down. Do you understand that?"

Brenda nodded. "Sure, dad. I get that. That's, like, your version of me locking myself in my room. You just go to school." That was exactly what it was, he realised, and so he simply nodded.

And that was that. His beautiful, wonderful kids had forgiven him his absence from Sunday morning breakfast. He really was so lucky, much more so than he deserved.

They went on watching for a little while longer until Chuck's stomach started growling. Thomas jumped to his feet. "I think that's our signal. Who's helping me with the lasagne?"

It went on to be a rather normal Sunday. The three of them cooked, Teresa came down for lunch, but Brenda did most of the talking, preventing the meal from becoming unbearably awkward. Thomas did the dishes and then played with Chuck and quizzed Brenda on her Spanish vocabulary.

So yes, it was rather normal. But not completely so. Because always, at the back of his mind, Thomas saw Newt's blown pupils after they'd come together, and as hard as he tried, family life would never be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back for another chapter!  
> Sorry it took me so long to update - but I'm back together with my beloved Macbook (shoutout to my boyfriend for fixing it!) and now I can comfortably write again :3  
> Thank you so much for reading, for your lovely comments and also for your tumblr messages - God they make me so happy, I can't believe you to take the time to drop me a line there :')  
> As always, you're the reason I'm writing this, so please let me know what you think :)  
> Loads of love xx and I'll try to update asap <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas confides in Minho, and Newt woos Thomas in a way that makes him excessively happy. Enjoy!

Thomas was standing in his dark bedroom, staring down at the bed, contemplating whether he should get in or simply go back to the living room couch.

It was ridiculous, really. But Thomas and Teresa had made a pact years ago that they would never go to bed angrily, and now he kind of was about to do that. They had been civil whenever they had to exchange words during the day, but there had been no warmth between them. That had never happened before.

Also, if he was being honest, Thomas felt dirty. He felt as if he didn't belong in his marriage bed any more, now that he had touched another human being in a sexual manner without his wife's consent. It had felt right - God, it had felt _so right_ \- but morally, it was still wrong, and now, at two o'clock in the morning, the heat of the moment gone, morals were keeping a tight hold on him.

Thomas had fallen asleep on the couch, reading, and woken up just a few minutes ago. In his sleep-fogged brain, going upstairs had been a plausible reaction to waking in the living room, but now, reality had hit him. He was a cheater, and now he was about to get into bed with his wife as if nothing had ever happened. Worse, he had _enjoyed_ cheating on her, and frankly, he couldn't stop thinking about when he could do it again. He wanted to touch Newt, kiss him, be with him. But he still wanted a place to come home to. Was he being a coward? Oh, definitely. But he couldn't help himself.

It couldn't go on forever. It wouldn't, too. It would eat him up inside.

But Thomas couldn't do anything about it now, at two in the morning; he would need all his strength to face Newt tomorrow morning during English. God, he hadn't even thought about that properly! Good thing they were about to watch that Macbeth movie version; that would give him two lessons of movie watching plus one to discuss it, which he could have his students do in groups - collect their findings, maybe ask them to hold short presentations, stage a press conference for the movie, that kind of thing. The students would love it and he could get his bearings.

Man, he was getting cold. He longed to slip under his blanket, get some sleep before a new, exhausting week would start. Should he do it?

Oh, what the hell. He was already damned.

Stifling a yawn, Thomas climbed into bed. Even though he expected to lie awake for some time, he fell asleep almost immediately.

...

Thomas breezed into the staff room in desperate need for coffee. Teresa had left early that morning so he had only seen her on her way out - she was almost as good at avoiding serious talks as he was (not that they would have discussed anything at 6:30 on a Monday morning) - and he had had a quiet but cosy breakfast with his children. Now he was wearing his fluffy _Out, damned spot!_ sweatshirt (he was curious if any of his students would understand the quote from the play they should have finished last week) and slightly nervous about seeing Newt, but all in all pretty happy with himself. 

He ran into Minho at the coffee maker, and the coach grunted at him; he wasn't much of a morning person. Thomas decided to make the first step.

"Morning, coach," he greeted, a small smile on his lips. "How's the season coming along?"

Minho's eyebrows shot upwards, but he didn't comment on the fact that they hadn't talked in weeks. "Not too shabby," he murmured, cradling his coffee cup. "That Gally kid surely has a lot of potential."

Thomas nodded while pouring himself a cup. "That's nice to hear," he said, trying to fight the awkwardness. "Listen," he continued, looking up at his friend, "How about we go for steaks again some time?" That had been one of their traditions - eating steaks like the macho guys they weren't (even though Minho liked to pretend otherwise) and talking about anything and everything.

His colleague looked at him; he looked moved, but it was hard to tell with the constant scowl on Minho's face that wouldn't go away until third period. "Sure," the coach answered, and that one word somehow broke the ice between them. "Can you do tomorrow?"

Thomas did a brief calculation in his mind. Brenda had school paper on Tuesdays, then she usually came home in a state of euphoria that would cause her to write for several hours - so she would have no plans and be fine babysitting Chuck. And Teresa wouldn't be around, anyway, even if they were talking. "Tomorrow sounds great," he said, and he couldn't help but think that it sounded like arranging a date. Well, they sort of were scheduling their making-up dinner. 

"Swell," Minho answered. "I'll make reservations." And with a curtly nod, he shuffled towards his desk. Thomas let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. It felt good to talk to his friend again, even if it was only to arrange a dinner. He had missed Minho, and the prospect of having steak with him the following evening made him feel much better. Glancing at his watch, he took a big gulp of coffee, refilled his mug and then grabbed his bag. It was time to face the music and teach the seniors. Good thing it was first period; this way, he'd be done with it and able to move on with his day. If it didn't end in a catastrophe.

...

His lesson did not end in a catastrophe.

But to say that it went perfectly normal and smooth would have been a lie. At least, it didn't feel like it.

Thomas didn't think his students realised that he wasn't really looking at them while explaining the day's activities ("We're going to watch a movie version of _Macbeth_ now, remember to take notes, Jeff is going to pass the reflection questions on - thank you, Jeff - yes, this is the version with Michael Fassbender - yes, I know you find him hot, Beth!") or setting up the laptop and beamer. He didn't dare to look up and meet Newt's eyes, so as soon as the movie started, he turned off the lights and dragged his chair to the back of the room; experience had taught him that students paid more attention with their teachers breathing down their necks.

The room was gloomy in the morning hours of this rainy October day, and it perfectly fit the mood of the film. His students were watching the movie with apparent interest; of course, there was a lot of fighting going on in that movie, too, making it a suitable Shakespeare film for today's teenage generation.

Thomas let his gaze wander - he'd seen the movie several times before - and found that his eyes were magically pulled to the back of Newt's neck. His hair was as wild as always, looking as if he'd only just got up, and the skin of his neck seemed almost white when contrasted with the black sweater he was wearing. How much he would like to kiss that neck - no, he couldn't allow himself any thoughts like that in class - what if he got a - no, that was impossible. _Think of something else, Edison, anything - urgh, that was a disgusting shot, that should be distraction enough._

But of course, the movie wasn't half as interesting as Newt's neck. Especially not when the blond seemed to suddenly sense that he was being stared at and turned around to meet Thomas' gaze. The twinkling in his eyes was practically diabolical, but he pretended to catch a glimpse at the clock hanging at the back of the room, so he didn't really acknowledge Thomas - except with a tiny wink that he could have imagined. It didn't make sitting there easier for him, though.

The lesson passed slowly, and as the bell sounded, the young teacher hurried to the front to stop the movie. "That's it for today," he called over the chatting mass of students, focusing his gaze on Sonya as it was easier than let his eyes wander nervously, and Sonya blushed. God, that hadn't been the best of ideas. "We'll watch the rest tomorrow. Have a good day!" And with that, the chatting noises rose again and his students filed out of the room. Newt seemed to linger by the door, and when Thomas glanced up, he saw the blond grinning at him.

"Love the jumper, Lady Macbeth," he positively purred, and before Thomas had even time to blush, Newt winked at him - and was gone.

God, had Thomas ever mentioned how jealous he was of Newt for being so cool? Because he was.

Thomas had to distract himself again, and so he decided to quickly consult his lesson plan again before the next lesson. It would be good if he knew at least how to teach the freshman if he didn't know how to handle his love life.

...

Thomas made it through the second hour of movie-watching the following day, and there was again no catastrophe, even though he didn't feel very relaxed. He hadn't had any contact with Newt since Sunday, but that was fine - it wasn't, but he knew they had to keep it casual, be careful. Every text they sent was a potential risk - they had talked about that. Plus, the blond's eyes said more than words could have; he was nervous, impatient, eager - just like Thomas. Maybe they could arrange something after this week's rehearsal. Even though it was only three more days until Friday, Thomas felt like he was four, no, five seconds from wildin'.

It was Tuesday, late morning, and Thomas had his free period/office hour during which he was supposed to be available for parents who wanted to talk to him, which was practically never the case. Because his English classroom was occupied, he had taken his papers to the staff room and was currently reading through the sophomore's homework when Rachel approached him.

"Oh, Thomas, I almost forgot," she said, and he started; he had been quite unaware of his surroundings, correcting grammar mistakes one of his students had made. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," his colleague said, smiling apologetically. Rachel's tan was already fading, every year a sure sign that Christmas was approaching fast and that he would need to get on with rehearsing their play. "That's okay," he said, leaning back in his chair, glancing up at Rachel. "What's up?"

"I'm supposed to give you this," she said, putting a USB stick down on the table in front of him. "One of your students gave it to me after class."

Thomas furrowed his brows; he didn't know anything about a USB stick. "What is it?" he asked, honestly confused.

His colleague shrugged. "Your student said it was music for the play. Look, it says "Romeo and Juliet" on the back." She turned the little back device and really, there was a sticker on it, the name of the play written on it. Apparently, one of his students had found something new for their play, and it couldn't wait until Friday. That was great; Thomas loved enthusiasm.

"Thanks," Thomas said, smiling. "This year's group really is quite something."

Rachel nodded. "You're really doing a great job motivating them. Especially your Romeo. No wonder he is looking for music all the time. I bet it helps him get into character." She smiled to herself.

_What?_ "So you're saying it was Newt who gave you the stick?" he asked, trying to be casual and hopefully not failing colossally.

"Yeah." Rachel nodded. "I need to get back to work, but I didn't want to forget about the music; maybe there's something really inspiring on there."

"Yeah..." Thomas said, his mind racing. "Thanks again, Rachel!"

"No problem." She nodded at him and went back to her desk.

Thomas picked up the little device, turned it between his fingers. Newt had sent him this via his colleague; was it really music for the play? Or was it something else? He was curious, but he didn't want to look while being in school; the thought alone felt daring, as if he were provoking fate. The stick would have to wait until tonight, after Minho's and his dinner. But Thomas would have had to lie if he had said his stomach wasn't buzzing with anticipation - and butterflies.

...

It had been quite a while since Thomas had gone for a run, so he felt himself positively panting after they finished their round; it was his and Minho's ritual - first sports, then meat. It felt clichéd in a good way.

Thomas had been scared that Minho would be awkward to be around, but no; it was the same as always. His friend would be his unique combination of nice, arrogant and provocative, and the young English teacher loved him for that.

"I'm still better than you, Edison," Minho judged when Thomas arrived at their bench almost ten seconds after his friend. "Honestly, we don't run together for three weeks and you totally suck."

"Yeah," Thomas breathed heavily, "let's not ever take a break that long again. You're good for my cardio."

Minho grinned in his half charming, half proud way. "I know I am," he said. "Let's hit the showers." The locker rooms next to the gym were empty, what with the coach not forcing anyone to practice and the cheerleaders rehearsing Mondays and Wednesdays, so they took the opportunity of showering there before going to the steakhouse. For all the teasing Minho liked to do, Thomas never felt bad undressing next to him; he knew that his friend would never make a mean comment about him, and so they got cleaned up and then climbed into Minho's Mercedes - there really was no reason for the both of them to drive.

"So, how have you been?" Minho asked as they were sitting at their table in the restaurant, two glasses of beer in front of them, waiting for their steaks. "What's going on in the Edison household?"

Thomas actually sighed.

"Shuck," Minho said, his eyebrows raised. "That bad?"

Thomas nodded. "God, you have no idea."

The coach let his fingernails _cling_ against the glass. "So Teresa is still always at work?"

Thomas nodded once more. "She has taken to sleeping at her office - or so she says." He sighed again. "I don't know what to think, Minho. She's just never home, I have to do everything by myself - and she doesn't respect my job! It's like to her I'm a professional dog walker or something - not that I think that's easy."

Minho sighed, too. "Damn, man."

"Yeah. I know."

The coach kept drumming against his glass. "So - how do you solve this? Ever thought about divorcing her?"

Thomas was shocked. "Minho, that's my marriage you're talking about!"

Minho's eyebrows were raised once more. "Oh, come on, don't tell me you haven't been thinking about that, too!"

The young English teacher shrugged. "You _are_ aware of the fact that you're talking to the world champion in ignoring problems until they eventually just go away?"

His friend laughed. "Right. Saint Thomas would never do anything to jeopardize his perfect family."

The way Minho said it, the way he was so sure of Thomas' virtue, irritated and hurt him simultaneously. He somehow wanted to crush this imagination of himself as the good guy. Also, he really needed to talk to someone about Newt.

He took a deep breath. "Minho, I'm having an affair."

Minho stared at him for a solid seven seconds before saying, "You're shitting me."

Thomas shook his head. "I'm not. I am - I'm seeing someone, and Teresa doesn't know it."

The coach continued to stare. "But - you're always in school! How - are you sleeping with a colleague? Or-" his eyes went wide, "are you banging a cheerleader, you kinky son of a bitch?" He was actually giggling.

_Cheerleader no, kinky maybe._ "How are you not more shocked by that?"

Minho continued to laugh. "Oh, I love this. This is perfect. Like my own little episode of _Desperate Housewives_. Teresa leaves you alone all the time and now you're fucking a really hot chick. And God, does she deserve it, being the terrible wife she is!"

Thomas shook his head. "She doesn't deserve it," he said quietly, feeling the need to defend his wife.

Minho shrugged. "Do you deserve being lonely all the time, having to raise her kids, clean her house?"

The brunet shrugged, too. "I guess not. But I feel really bad about it. But-" He hesitated, then said it. "I actually think I'm falling in love. Like, for real. I mean, it's too early to say, I guess, but..." He shrugged once more and felt himself blush.

His friend smiled. "That's great, Thomas," he said, and it actually sounded sincere. "I just hope there's a way to solve all of this without anyone getting hurt too badly."

Thomas nodded. "Oh God, so do I," he said.

Minho scrutinized him for a moment. "And it's not a cheerleader?"

The young teacher laughed. "No cheerleader."

His friend nodded, his brows furrowed, thinking hard. "Nor any other school girl?"

_Well, he had said_ girl. "No, no school girl who I could accidentally knock up." The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Kind of.

Minho grinned. "Well, as long as you're safe." And as their steaks arrived that moment, the topic was sort of done. Minho didn't ask any more questions about who Thomas was seeing, and Thomas was glad because really, he wouldn't have wanted to say. But it felt good to have shared his secret with his best friend, even if it was only a tiny part of it. The rest of it would be out in the open at some point, anyway. If Thomas decided to break it up with Teresa. And really, he wanted to do it more and more every day.

...

Two hours later, Chuck was already in bed and Brenda was on the phone with one of her friends, so Thomas went into his study and sat down on the tiny couch he had insisted on putting into the small room. His laptop was balanced on his knees, the USB stick in his hand.

He really needed to know what it was Newt had sent him. God, he was nervous. What if it was something bad?

Then again, why would it be? Maybe it really _was_ just music for the play and he was completely overreacting.

_Get a grip, Edison!_

Without further ado, Thomas inserted the stick into his laptop, and a window popped open. There was nothing on the stick except for a playlist. It was called _If music be the food of love_ , which was a Shakespeare quote from _Twelfth Night_. He could feel himself beginning to grin like an idiot.

Thomas double-clicked at the playlist and waited.

He recognised the first song as soon as it started to play - he would know the dirty guitar riffs used by the Black Keys anywhere.

_"Need a new love? Yeah, I'm ready. Want my time? Yeah, I'm willing.... I'll be you man..."_

It was actually one of Thomas' favourite songs by the band; he knew all the lyrics to the short number about a potential new love by heart. He leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to the well-known track while thinking of _Romeo and Juliet_. The song would fit the play, in a way, as it was a man's pledge to be there for another person - but Thomas couldn't help but feel like the song was meant for him, not the play. Especially since the group had decided to stick to a more purist, traditional staging.

The last notes were barely over when another song started playing; he knew neither the artist nor the song, but the lyrics were obvious.

_"Love knows no boundaries, sees beyond sexuality..."_

Newt had made him a mix tape.

Thomas felt himself blush. The fact that his eighteen-year-old student was wooing him with a playlist was just too cute to be true. He wanted to text him immediately, but somehow he felt like he needed to listen to all the songs first.

_"You've been on my mind, girl, like a drug... Heaven help a fool who falls in love..."_

_"Oh darling, my heart's on fire for you..."_

_"I wanna be your boyfriend..."_

_"I oughta be working, but I can't concentrate, I oughta be sleeping instead of staying up late, well I oughta be doing all the things I should do - I'm thinking 'bout you..."_

Newt had a great taste in music, Thomas realised with delight - he had combined classics and new stuff and created a great mix. It was Romeo and Juliet first falling in love. It was hopeful, enthusiastic, emotional. It was perfect.

And Newt had made it. For him. _For them._

Thomas picked up his phone and selected Newt's number.

"Hello?"

"I don't think anyone's ever made me a mix tape," Thomas said by way of saying hello. He started pacing the small room.

"It's high time, then." Newt sounded comfortable, as if he were cuddled up in bed or on a sofa. "I take it you like it?"

Thomas smiled, even though Newt (obviously) couldn't see it. "I love it. It's perfect. Thank you so much."

A soft chuckle answered him. "You're welcome." Newt's voice was all velvet - it made Thomas shudder.

Maybe he was blabbering, but he just had to go on expressing his feelings. "You even skipped the clichés - no Belle & Sebastian, no Smiths... And did you know my middle name was Stephen or was that Taylor Swift song a coincidence?"

Thomas could hear the smile in Newt's voice. "I think you forgot that I once sort of broke into the principal's office. Of course I know your middle name, Thomas Stephen Edison."

God, how was he always so smooth? Thomas had to know. "How is it that you're always so cool?" the young teacher asked. "I mean, if I had given my Spanish teacher a super obvious mix tape for my English teacher, I'd have been pretty nervous. Can't you at least pretend you're not always a complete ice cube?"

He had meant it as a joke, but Newt sounded bewildered. "You think I'm not nervous about you?" he asked.

Thomas shrugged, again in vain. "I guess not?"

It was quiet for a moment. "Well, you're wrong," Newt said in a low, earnest voice. "I'm just a pretty good actor."

The young teacher didn't know what to say to that.

"Speaking of acting," Newt continued, "can I see you on Friday? My mum works the day shift, which lasts until ten pm. You could come over." Did Thomas hear a bit of nerves in his voice? It was hard to tell. "I'd love to," he answered. "I'll make it happen."

"Brilliant." Newt released a breath, and Thomas was delighted at the idea that the blond actually didn't have ice water in his veins but shared his anticipation.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Thomas said, his voice low, as if he were whispering the words into Newt's ears.

"I think about you all the time," Newt said simply, and the young teacher felt the butterflies in his stomach go mental.

"Me too. Good night."

"Good night, Tommy."

And that was that. A short conversation, barely over two minutes long. But again, it had managed to shake up Thomas' world.

He couldn't wait for Friday to arrive, so he put the mix tape back on while he packed his school bag for the following day.

_"Look, I'd be lying if I said to you that I know exactly what I should do, but I've set my whole heart on trying..."_

Somehow, wonderfully, Newt had chosen all the right songs, and the lyrics expressed Thomas' feelings perfectly.

He would have to put _makes brilliant mix tapes_ onto his Pro-Newt list, he thought jokingly, as he hummed along. He hadn't felt so understood in ages. And really, wasn't that what everyone wanted from a relationship at the end of the day?

_"Oh darling, my heart's on fire for you..."_

Yes. Yes, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> Thanks so much for reading, as always, I'm so happy anyone bothers :D  
> I had a bit of a slump last week, so I tried to access the characters by creating a playlist about them, which inspired this chapter :) In case you're interested in the playlist, let me know and I'll tell you (or I could create a playlist on 8tracks if anyone knows how to do that :D)  
> So as always, thank you so much, and if you have any thoughts or complaints, please let me know, I appreciate your feedback sooo much :)  
> Loads of love and I promise to update ASAP!!  
> xxx


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas finds himself increasingly torn between his two identities, and he notices that his family life is changed forever. Also, fluff, because we need it.

The next days passed in a happy haze for Thomas. He put the mix tape playlist on to his iPod (yes, he preferred the old-school iPod to listening to music on his phone) and listened to it day in, day out - in the shower, in the kitchen, when he was working out. Brenda recognised the change from her father's usual playlist and approved it. Thomas contemplated telling her that Newt compiled it, but discarded the thought; he wouldn't fuel her adoration for the boy that he had a serious crush on any further.

"Where did you get that from, dad? I've never heard of the artist before," his daughter asked him as she hummed along Thursday night while helping him loading the dishwasher.

Thomas decided on a sort of half-truth, like he always did these days. "It's a Romeo and Juliet compilation," he explained. "Those songs were suggested to be used during the performance, but then we agreed to stick with more classical music. Now I've got it."

Brenda nodded. "I get that it might be a bit too modern, featuring The Black Keys in a Shakespeare play," she said, laughing, "but you taught those students well, dad, if they even know your favourite band!"

Well, that hadn't been so much about teaching and more about a lazy Sunday morning in an empty classroom, Thomas thought, but he let it pass.

...

The Friday afternoon rehearsal went well. Thomas was again delighted by his cast's enthusiasm and their ability to actually remember their lines and entrances. A thing they had a bit of a problem with, though, was dying convincingly, so they did some acting exercises, which again ended in fits of laughter.

"Winston, the thing with the plague isn't actually all that funny," Thomas grinned as he watched his student giggle.

"I know, Mr E, but, like, he goes offstage and then comes back on to die? Where's the sense in that?" Winston hiccupped another laugh as he mimicked shuffling about in a zombie-esque fashion.

Thomas threw up his arms. "Guys, what have I told you never to do?"

"Question the Bard," his students answered as one, in mock-seriousness, and the young teacher saw Newt laugh whole-heartedly, which made his own heart skip a beat.

"Exactly. Now let's get back to work. Winston, you're dead, and try to stay quiet, please, because corpses hardly ever have laughing fits, as you might be surprised to hear." Another giggle escaped Winston, but he nodded. "Newt, come back here, I need you to slaughter Aris."

Newt jumped back up, grabbing his sword. "Oh, come on, Mister E," he said, and the nickname sounded strange and great at the same time coming from the blond, "you say stuff like that and expect us to be serious? It's not fair."

Thomas couldn't help but colour a tiny bit, but he shrugged it off. "Life's hard, Romeo, you should know." He grinned at his student/secret affair, and Newt saluted with his rapier. "Aris, are you ready? And - go!"

The sword fighting was still not what it ought to be, but the girl's gym coach had promised to work out a choreography until the following week, so they would still get it done in time; it was not yet November, after all, and thus almost two months until they'd premier their play.

Despite their lack of proficiency where fencing was concerned, Aris and Newt gave a great show. Aris was a vicious yet vulnerable Tybalt, and the raw grief in Newt's eyes at the death of his best friend was once again breath-taking. Thomas would have to get someone to film the whole performance - not Beth's dad, but someone with a decent camera; this scene alone would be a golden ticket into Julliard for Newt.

Thomas was nervous about their meeting later; they had agreed that Thomas would drive to a close-by supermarket and leave his car there. Newt had texted him the directions so he could take a back road and walk through their back yard; the chances of him being seen were slim, and even if someone saw him, what could they suspect? A young man walking up to a house? He could have been a relative, an acquaintance. And if someone happened to know Thomas' profession? Oh well, he was just checking in on his best actor, bringing him the script he had forgotten, talking to his mother about his college future. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to worry about, nothing to be suspicious about.

So he tried to behave like everything was fine. Luckily, he wasn't too shabby an actor himself.

The rehearsal progressed, and soon more characters, including his leads, were about to die.

"Here's to my love!" Newt shouted, his grip tight around the vial of poison he (or rather Romeo) had acquired to end his life over his grief for Juliet. Thomas found that he was actually almost moved to tears; the fact that Romeo and Juliet couldn't be together reminded him of his own situation with Newt, and seeing him act so desperately, even if it was only in a play, moved him deeply.

He didn't interrupt for comments, trying to get himself together again, and focused on Sonya's less proficient yet still convincing acting. Neither Newt nor Thomas would die because of what they did; this was a play, for shuck's sake, not real life! It was all a metaphor for society, not a realistic outcome of a harmless affair. Was their affair harmless? Probably not, he was already in too deep. But still - he shouldn't let the play get him down. The fact that he had feelings for Newt was a good thing, not a bad thing. In the larger scheme of things, at least. Love was never a bad thing. Had he just thought of the word _love_?! Holy shuck.

Finally, most of the characters had died, and they had, for the first time, finished acting out the whole play. Cheers erupted from the cast, and Thomas applauded them, now that he was focused again, and showered them with praise.

"You are most likely the most talented and motivated group I've ever worked with!" he exclaimed, and his students' eyes glistened with pride; Sonya and Beth beamed at each other, and even Jeff couldn't fight a proud little smile. "If that's okay with you, I will design a schedule for the next few rehearsals so you'll know in advance which scenes we'll be doing and whether you're needed or not. You're of course always welcome to watch, but since you're such an excellent group, we don't need to do whole run-throughs every week but can for now take a closer look at the most important scenes. Next week, for example, will be the sword-fighting week, so ladies, you can all go home early," he explained. "I'll email you the schedule during the next few days, and that's really it for today! Thank you all for your fantastic work!"

The group cheered and clapped again and moved to get their stuff. Thomas jumped up on to the stage to gather all the props together, waving off any help offered to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sonya talking to Newt; she was playing with her hair and laughing, and Newt was smiling his charming smile. Thomas knew it was ridiculous, but he was actually just a little bit jealous. Not of the fact that Newt gave his attention to Sonya - he wasn't into girls, he had said, and Thomas trusted him - but of the fact that they could flirt so openly and nobody would think anything of it. They were the romantic leads of the school play, and if they got together, nobody would mind - people would likely find it ridiculously romantic. Thomas sighed.

"Bye, Mr E!" The shouts reverberated through the auditorium, and soon the young teacher was alone with the box of swords and other utensils they had used during the rehearsal. He knew he had to wait a bit to make sure Newt got home before him, so he took his time storing the props backstage before leaving the auditorium, locking it and making his way to the staff room to gather his things. He also took some time rearranging his desk until he couldn't stand it any more. Thomas left the building, walked to his car, got in and, as he had been doing for a few days now, got Newt's mix tape started. Then he drove to the supermarket, bought some chocolate as an alibi and then pulled out his phone to revisit the directions he'd got from Newt (he knew them by heart, of course, but just to make sure) and set off across the parking lot and onto the next street. It was drizzling in an uncomfortable but beautiful late-October manner, and Thomas pulled his hood up to protect himself from the rain; as far as he was concerned, it was the perfect weather to sneak into Newt's house as nobody was on the street, and even if there had been, he would have been unrecognisable with his hood up. The young teacher walked along the narrow lane until he recognised the colouring of Newt's house and slipped into the garden through the little door in the picked fence. There was a well-used little path across the lawn, the closeness of the supermarket possibly making this the preferred route when going shopping for groceries. Thomas quickly walked up to the house and knocked on the back door.

He had expected to wait for at least a few second, but the door opened immediately, and the next thing he knew was that he was being pulled into the house by the hand still raised from knocking.

Newt had obviously been waiting for him at the door, which he quickly slammed shut. In the dim light of the hallway, his eyes looked black, and his hair shimmered golden. "Finally," was all that he said, and then he pressed his lips to Thomas'.

Their kiss was feverish, hungry, as if they were starved and craving the other, which was nothing short of the truth. Thomas took Newt's face in his hands as the blond pushed him against the door, and he held onto him as if he could lose him again any second.

When they broke apart, they actually gasped for air, and Newt grinned at him. "That's quite a good way to say hello." Thomas smiled back, relieved to have his sassy Englishman back. "Come on," he continued, grabbing his teacher by the hand, "I've made tea."

...

The sentence "I've made tea" hadn't meant anything to Thomas, but of course, he'd forgotten what British teatime was like. There was not only tea, but cake, scones with jam and clotted cream, and savoury sandwiches, all neatly displayed on an étagère, and Newt had set the table with fine china and matching napkins.

"That's tea, huh?" Thomas said, because he really didn't know what to say. Newt had prepared all this after a stressful day at school, just for him?

Newt smiled and coloured a bit as Thomas sat down and he poured him a cup of tea. "Well, you know, we've talked about how you enjoyed visiting England and I thought..." He took a deep breath. "The other day when you said that I'm always so cool... That's me not being cool. That's me making an effort." He blushed even more, but tried to wave it off. "Well, not an effort. I enjoy baking. But you know what I mean." With his face still red, he sat down. "See how not-cool I am right now?"

Thomas smiled; he felt all warm and fuzzy inside from Newt's declaration, and blushing Newt was nothing short of adorable. "You're incredible," he simply said, and reached out to take the blond's hand. They looked at each other, and some sort of understanding passed between them; they were the opposite of cool when around the other, both of them, and that was okay, more than okay, it was wonderful.

Thomas' stomach growled.

Newt laughed his beautiful, wholehearted laugh again. "Oh my, Tommy, please, have a sandwich!"

So the young teacher got himself a cucumber sandwich (or four) and a scone (or five - who could have blamed him?! Newt's baking was delicious!), and they started talking about the day's rehearsal, about the Macbeth movie they had watched in class (because Newt was not content with the discussions they'd led in class), about other theatre-to-screen-adaptations they loved, and Newt actually got himself a pen and a piece of paper so he could write down Thomas' suggestions. Despite the fact that the blond knew a lot less about literary studies than his teacher, he had a lot of thoughts on a lot of issues, and again Thomas felt himself enjoying their conversation in a way he hadn't enjoyed talking to other like-minded people since college. Newt was curious about art, about people, about life, while at the same time being able to argue his point, an ability many adults lacked (Thomas still had problems with thinking of Newt as an adult, which of course he was), and he was also a good listener. His cool facade had only partly returned so that he still made some snazzy remarks here and there, but his guard was mostly down, and Thomas had to admit that he liked this Newt maybe even more than the one he had met in school; he was honest, interested, and passionate, a brilliant combination.

Thomas insisted on helping Newt with the dishes, and so they loaded the dishwasher together, once more talking about the mix tape.

"I've never really listened to The Black Keys before," Newt admitted as he put the remaining two sandwiches in the fridge. "I'm glad you were wearing that shirt last week. I can't stop listening to them. There's just something so... Dirty about their guitar sound, I don't know how to phrase it."

"That's exactly what I think!" Thomas exclaimed happily. "You should see them live, they're so good!"

Newt smiled. "I'd like that. Go to a concert with you, dance together..." He paused, his smile vanishing. "Do you think we'll ever be able to do that?"

Thomas sighed. "Believe me when I say that there's nothing I want more," he answered quietly. He took a deep breath; it seemed to be Confession Day, so why not just say it? "I... I think I'm really falling for you, Newt. And I know this is all extremely complicated and difficult, and I don't even know what all of this is, but if you're willing to wait for a bit," he touched his hand and took it in his. "That'd be great. Because as unhappy as I am in my marriage, I can't just run away. I have children who depend on me to be there for them."

Newt looked up and met his eyes. "I understand," he said, and the slight smile was back on his lips. "And until then, we can just dance by ourselves."

He turned on the little speakers next to the fridge, and Thomas' mix tape started playing. "Need a new love? Yeah, I'm ready," Newt sang softly, and he grabbed his teacher's hand and twirled. Thomas laughed and joined in, and soon they were waltzing around the kitchen to the soundtrack of their relationship, laughing and singing along because at that moment, they really didn't have a care in the world.

...

Thomas arrived at his house about two hours later than on a usual Friday night, but he had told Brenda that he would be working for the play, and she hadn't questioned it (and Teresa hadn't asked, anyway, because whatever he did, he would be home before her). Lying to Brenda felt terrible; in many ways, she was as much his friend as his daughter, and they had a sort of Gilmore-Girls-like relationship, even more so than she had with Teresa because of all the time they had spent together. He felt even worse for lying to her about a boy she found cute, but really, that was unavoidable.

"Hi dad," her shout sounded from the kitchen, "come on in!"

Thomas kicked off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen - and stared. Both his kids were there, making something that smelled distinctly Italian - but Teresa was also there.

He hadn't seen her properly in days, and she looked bad - tired, skinny, her skin pale. But there she was, stirring tomato sauce and smiling at him in a reluctant manner. "Hi, Tom," she said, and Thomas felt obliged to reciprocate the smile - the children were watching.

"Hello, family," he said, looking over Chuck's shoulder. "That smells delicious. What are you making?"

"Pizza!" the little boy shouted, his fingers sticky with dough. He was smiling happily, and Thomas felt another pang of guilt; Chuck needed both his parents to be there for him, and they had failed him bitterly during those last weeks.

"Ooooh, pizza," Thomas said with actual excitement - Teresa's pizza was actually really great, and despite the fact that Newt had made a brilliant afternoon tea, he was down for a slice or two. "Can I do anything to help?"

"You could carry those plates over to the TV, if you don't mind," Teresa suggested, giving him a stack of plates. "I thought we could do the classic American family thing and eat pizza in front of the TV and watch one of our favourite family movies, like _Mulan_ or _Brave_!"

Thomas nodded, but he didn't meet Teresa's eyes. It was hard to admit, but he had distanced himself from her, and even though she was trying now, it somehow didn't feel like it was enough. He knew he wasn't being fair, but so many things had happened during the last few weeks, one slice of homemade pizza and one Disney movie wouldn't be enough to make up for all the harsh words and long nights.

"Mum, the pizza would have to be frozen for that," Brenda explained, but she smiled, apparently also happy at the prospect of a family night.

"We're watching _Frozen_?!" Chuck exclaimed happily, and when both his girls shouted "NO!" at the same time, Thomas actually cracked a smile on his way to the TV.

...

It was still a really nice family night; Chuck was eager to cuddle with his mummy, so it wasn't too awkward that Thomas wanted to keep his distance from Teresa, considering that there was a child clinging to her. The pizza was very good, and Teresa had bought tiramisu on the way home from work, which they had for dessert. They watched Disney movies and sang along whenever there was a song, and Chuck fell asleep happily around 9:30, so Thomas carried him to his bed while Teresa got started on the dishes and Brenda excused herself, clutching a paperback.

When Thomas returned downstairs, he could hear his wife move around the kitchen, but he couldn't bring himself to go to her; he was anxious and uncomfortable and felt guilty, and he didn't know what to do, so he grabbed his own current read from his school bag and sat back down on the living room sofa.

About ten minutes must have passed when he was startled out of the story by Teresa, who had apparently finished cleaning up the kitchen. In her flannel pyjama bottoms, her tank top with soapy stains and her messy ponytail she looked like she had in college, when they'd lived in a tiny flat off campus. Only her face showed how much time had passed - not because she looked old, but because she looked so tired.

Teresa sat down next to him. "What are you reading?" she asked, like she always did, and he held up the book cover, like he always did.

His wife studied the cover. "The author's name sounds foreign," she mused, "Isn't that a Nobel prize winner? Is it good?"

Teresa had never been the biggest reader; she enjoyed it, and she probably still read a lot more than the average person, but she preferred short story collections and non-fiction. She still asked him about his reading experiences, though, because she loved listening to him when he was talking about books he was enthusiastic about. Or she used to, anyway.

"She's Austrian," Thomas explained, "and I'm not sure yet. I find it a bit bizarre." He glanced over at his wife. "You look so tired, Tessa. Why don't you go catch up on some sleep?"

Suddenly, there were tears glistening in her eyes. "I don't want to fight anymore, Tom," she whispered so her voice wouldn't break; always the strong one, his wife. "It's exhausting and stupid. You know how much I need and value you. I say stupid things when I'm tired, but I don't mean them." 

She hadn't said that she was sorry, and Thomas had a feeling she wouldn't.

He couldn't say _it's okay_ , because it wasn't. It still wasn't. And he wouldn't lie just to make her feel better about her inability to apologise.

"I don't want to fight, either," he said instead, because he didn't. "And the kids need us as a union."

Teresa hugged him then, and Thomas held her, because it was the right thing to do.

"And I also really could do with a decent tumble in the sheets," she whispered, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Instantly, he felt anxiety overtake him. The prospect of sleeping with his wife now was outrageous - he hadn't done it in weeks, and the only one who had touched him was Newt, and with him, it had felt better than it ever had, and he didn't want to, no, he couldn't, have sex with Teresa now.

"Maybe we should postpone this until after you've had a bit of sleep," he said, and when she looked him in the eye, he knew that she knew he hadn't forgiven her. However, she didn't say anything, and she didn't seize the opportunity to apologise. She simply nodded and smiled. "I'll be in the bathroom," she said, and released him to go upstairs.

Thomas sat there, unable to form a coherent thought except for _Newt Newt Newt_. All he wanted was to disappear from this domestic drama and be in his happy place with the blond once again, dancing to his favourite rock songs.

But he couldn't do that as long as he was married.

At least not freely. 

Teresa wasn't around much, but she would notice if he stopped sleeping with her altogether. He would have to get over himself and just do it - they had always had such a great sex life, and it wasn't like he didn't think she was attractive anymore. But something had changed between them.

Now, it felt as if he was cheating on Newt.

Thomas tried to figure out his options. He couldn't do anything about the whole Newt situation before the blond had graduated, anyway, which meant that he had more than half a year to decide on a course of action. During that time, he could figure out how to tell Teresa that he was now interested in men as well. Maybe he wouldn't divorce her, maybe they could just have an open relationship - even though he didn't want to share Newt with anyone. Newt belonged to him.

So, until the seniors graduated in May, Thomas had time to explore his relationship with Newt and get to know him better, and then they would decide what was best for all of them. Because one thing was clear - Thomas was risking his job fooling around with that young man, and nobody could know, not before he was ready for it. And even then he still might have to change schools, which was sad an inconvenient, but he would do it. For Newt, he would do it.

Thomas sighed. That was a lot of thinking for a Friday night. He contemplated following Teresa upstairs, but then re-opened his book and immersed himself in the complicated love lives of two Austrian women. That way, at least he wasn't alone in his cluelessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this, guys, I'm so happy that there are people out there who love those two dorks just as much as I do!!  
> This story is getting much longer than I had originally planned, but I think shit is going to get real pretty soon now... :)  
> If you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them :)  
> Thanks again and I will post again ASAP, promise!!  
> xxx khaleesivero


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has a family dinner and realises that he can't play his role any longer.

Several weeks passed, and Thomas' situation stayed mostly the same. He taught classes, led rehearsals, took care of his children, avoided his wife, and met Newt in secret. It had all become a sort of routine, and by the time Thanksgiving had arrived, he almost felt comfortable in his double life.

Newt and Thomas found time to see each other at least once a week, and they had also started to talk on the phone more often; they would just erase their call history afterwards and nobody would know. Thomas knew it wasn't the best idea, but it felt saver to talk than to send messages, and anyway, he missed Newt's voice when he wasn't around.

His feelings for the blond were growing; he could feel it. As they talked more and spent more time together, Thomas got to learn more about Newt; how he was feeling about his parents' divorce, about college, about his classmates, about the other teachers, about politics, about music... Thomas loved listening to him, and he also realised that their worries weren't all that different. Sure, Newt was worried about getting into a good college, but that ultimately meant that he was worried about his future - something that was also true of Thomas.

Newt had asked him to work with him on some soliloquies and scenes to improve his acting and get him fit for Juilliard, and Thomas was happy to oblige him. He did some research on the auditioning process and found that Shakespeare was a requirement for any acting audition - a thing that delighted him - and he encouraged Newt to read and try out several different monologues. They also watched them acted out together, marvelling at the acting skills of Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch, and even though this aspect of their relationship felt a lot like a school-like situation at times, Thomas loved how Newt appreciated his knowledge and expertise. He had never felt so valued before by anyone he'd been with, which made him adore Newt even more.

Also, working with Newt was fun, not only because of his talent, but because he was clever, and it was beautiful to watch him learn and improve. Thomas filmed his version of "Once more unto the breach, dear friends", a monologue from Henry V, because it was just incredible to see the blond act it out. But they also goofed around together, throwing around Shakespearean phrases so that their sessions never got too serious.

They worked together in the English classroom after school, which was perfectly proper, apart from the fact that they sneaked in a kiss or two (or twenty) when they could, closing the curtains or sneaking into the tiny cabinet that held Thomas' books and DVDs. It was stupid, for sure, but they both loved the thrill.

Newt, however, Thomas realised, wasn't at all the reckless, uncaring boy he had pretended to be on the very first day of school. He was sarcastic and sassy, sure, because it helped him be confident, but he was also sensitive and thoughtful and insecure, showing this side only to people he trusted. Thomas still envied the easy confidence he wore on stage, but he had seen what lay under it, and he was glad that he had.

The only thing that worried him was the physical aspect of their relationship. Thomas couldn't deny that he wanted Newt, and he knew that the feeling was mutual, but they didn't seem to find the opportunity to be alone for longer than an hour or two, and romantic as he was, Thomas didn't want to rush their first time or do it at school. If he was perfectly honest, he was nervous about it. He wanted it to be perfect, and he wanted them to take their time.

"I understand," Newt had said when he'd told him. "That's perfectly okay. Maybe we can..." He swallowed, and it was then that Thomas realised that Newt, too, was nervous. It made him feel better about his own insecurities. "Maybe we can spend the night somewhere else, just the two of us." The thought of sleeping next to Newt and waking up together was strangely abstract as of yet, but it excited him. 

They still hadn't managed to get away, but even so, Thomas had started dropping hints at home about going to New York for a night with Minho some time. They had done this before, driving the few hours to the metropolis to see baseball games, go to concerts or even see theatre productions (on rare occasions, when Minho felt like it), and thus it was the perfect cover-up for a lovers' meeting.

But first, Thomas had to live through Thanksgiving Dinner with his parents and Teresa's, too, and that was always quite a difficult night, maybe the most difficult night of the year, if one didn't count Christmas Day, which he didn't, because they could usually escape in the late afternoon hours.

Thomas wasn't exactly well loved by his parents in law, who would have wanted their daughter to marry an architect, lawyer or doctor. They were also still angry with him for impregnating their daughter in her late teens - a fact that made Brenda dislike her grandparents because they indirectly made her feel unwanted, causing her to be unusually crabby around them. For some reason, the same rule didn't apply to Chuck, possibly because Teresa had been well into her twenties and finished college when she'd had him. Mr and Mrs Agnes also thought that Thomas' parents, a gardener and a primary school teacher, were peculiar, which in turn made Thomas dislike them, because he loved his mum and dad dearly. Teresa usually tried to make it all work, and Thomas tried not to be offended too much by the snarky remarks that were unavoidable, and Chuck would try to be cute enough to tie them all over until dinner was finished. But with Thomas and Teresa not being too happy with each other at the moment, he dreaded what the evening would bring.

So Thomas did the one thing he could do to appease everyone - he cooked. He had bought all the necessary groceries the day before so he could work on dinner all day, and so he was busy preparing dough for pies while still slurping his first cup of morning coffee. A pyjama-clad Brenda joined him an hour or so later, chewing on some toast while cutting up apples for the filling. It was their own little tradition - they would cook together, because being the half of the family disliked by the Agnes', that's all they could do to ensure dinner wouldn't be a total disaster. Well, that and be silent while dinner was on the table, ignoring all the unfriendly remarks.

Brenda put Thomas' iPod on shuffle and they worked together on their four pies; four might have seemed a bit excessive, and they had never managed to finish all of them, but since every family member had a different favourite, they always made four pies. This circumstance never failed to elicit criticism from his mother-in-law, but Thomas would rather she rolled her eyes at their dessert choices than see the tantrum Chuck (or Teresa) would throw if their respective favourite pie was cancelled, and neither Brenda nor he would have given up on their favourites.

"Dad, why do we always have to have Thanksgiving dinner with mum's parents?" Brenda asked as she finished off her pie with a crust of leaves she had artfully formed out of dough.

Thomas sighed; they had a variation of this conversation every year. "Because they're part of our family too, kiddo. Even though you might not like them so much."

Brenda huffed, but didn't say anything about how she didn't just _not like them so much_ but totally dislike them. "I'm just annoyed I yet again fail to have a punk rocker as a boyfriend at this time of year. That would give them something to complain about!" Her gleeful expression made Thomas chuckle.

"That's just because your grandparents have no appreciation for good music." He nodded towards the speakers, which were at that moment playing a song by The Ramones. _I want to be your boyfriend._ It was one of Newt's songs. Thomas tried not to linger on that fact.

Brenda smiled, but she didn't say anything. She seemed to hesitate. "Dad..." she began, and then added, more confidently, "you know Newt, right?"

Oh _no_. "Sure, honey, what's up with him?"

His daughter kept her look firmly on the cake she was decorating. "Do you think maybe... He could be interested in a sophomore?"

It was so painfully obvious that she was talking about herself it broke Thomas' heart a little. This was one of the moments he had dreaded so much. He had to lie about his daughter's crush because he was fooling around with the same boy and needed not to get her hopes up.

Still, he was flattered she still talked to him about boys. He would have thought Teresa had taken over that domain a long time ago.

"Well," he said, trying his best to sound neutral and not in any way concerned about the fact that his fifteen-year-old daughter wanted to date eighteen-year-old boys, "I'm sure he could, honey. But I am kind of suspecting there's something going on between him and Sonya." That was a good answer, because there were indeed rumours about the leads of his musical having an affair, and rumours like that could only help himself, too. (Newt found those rumours hilarious, and he tried his best not to lead the girl on, but he enjoyed Sonya's company, so they still hung out quite a lot.) "And either way, he wants to go away to college soon, so maybe you'll find a nice boy who is closer to your own age so you can spend more time together?"

Brenda sighed. "But boys at fifteen are so immature."

Her father nodded. "I know. Sorry, honey. They'll come around."

"And Newt is so handsome."

Thomas barely caught himself before saying, "I know" yet again. He shrugged. "I'm sure other boys are handsome, too. And more available."

His daughter shrugged too. "Yeah, maybe... And he doesn't look very punk rock, anyway." She didn't sound very convinced, though, and that worried Thomas. He didn't want Brenda to have any feelings for Newt when he might be her future stepfather. Jesus, that sounded weird. The thought alone made him feel dizzy - he wasn't ready for any significant decisions yet. He would be, eventually, but right now he needed to help his daughter get over her crush so she wouldn't get hurt when, if, _when_ everything was revealed to her.

The conversation was interrupted, however, by one of Brenda's favourite songs coming on, and so she turned up the volume, and when she turned it down again once it had ended, she told Thomas all about the book she was currently reading, and didn't mention Newt again.

...

Despite the fact that it was Thanksgiving and thus a holiday, Teresa had still gone to her office that morning ("I need to seize the possibility of having all the rooms to myself!") so it fell to Thomas and Brenda to tidy up the downstairs living area, which they did during the late morning. Being unable to chat while they cleaned, they turned their house into a disco of sorts, playing cheesy pop songs at full volume to sing along to while they worked. After a quick pasta lunch (for which Chuck, who had hidden to avoid the housework, joined them) and some alone time for the both of them (during which Thomas received a text from Newt saying _I am grateful for you_ , awww) they reunited in the kitchen in the afternoon and embarked on a several hour long endeavour to cook the best possible Thanksgiving dinner. Thomas knew from experience that his mother-in-law disliked him serving perfect dinners but would not say anything offensive; she would on the contrary compliment him and look like it caused her physical pain, and that, childish as he was, gave Thomas great satisfaction.

The guests were ordered for six thirty, and it was almost six when Teresa finally came home, taking over turkey duty so Thomas could take a quick shower and put on a conservative shirt so his in-laws wouldn't be able to complain about his looks. When he returned downstairs, Brenda had set the table in a lovely autumn-y way and put on a dress which had a neckline that would probably elicit her grandmother's criticism, but Teresa apparently hadn't noticed and Thomas didn't really care; his daughter had a right to dress whichever way she liked in her own home.

Thomas joined Teresa in the kitchen, and she turned to smile at him. "It smells incredible, honey," she said, and he was astonished to see that his wife was really excited for the evening; she practically yearned for family time, even if it would include her parents. "I'm sure it'll be wonderful."

Thomas smiled at her. In her smart blue dress, Teresa was undeniably beautiful, and no matter how difficult their relationship was at the moment, seeing her happy made him happy, too. "I did my best," he said, and when she hugged him, he reciprocated the embrace. It was weird, but if Teresa felt it too, she didn't show. She seemed happy at the physical contact, and really, they had always been a quite touchy couple, and their current hiatus on cuddling and sex was unusual for both of them. But while Thomas got to touch Newt, Teresa was probably lonely. No wonder she was looking forward to an evening with her family. Guilt surged through Thomas like pain, and he pressed a kiss to her hair in a gesture of tenderness to make Teresa feel better. She beamed up at him, and another wave of guilt hit him. _What was he doing?_

Thomas let go of his wife and avoided the awkwardness by checking on dinner. Everything seemed perfect, and all that was left to do was kill the last few minutes until the guests would show up.

Seconds later, the doorbell sounded, and from the upbeat tone in Brenda's voice coming from the door he knew it had to be his parents. Happily, he almost ran to meet them; he hadn't seen them in weeks, and with all that was going on, he dearly needed a hug from his mother.

"Son!" Mrs Edison exclaimed as soon as she saw Thomas, "Let me hug you!" His mother was quite short, but she had an incredible presence, and apart from her auburn hair, Thomas looked exactly like her. He had inherited his darker colouring from his father, who was smiling kindly at him now, waiting his turn to embrace their only son.

"You look skinny," his mother said, pinching Thomas' waist, making him flinch. "Are you eating enough? Is the play stressing you out?"

"I'm fine, mum," the young teacher said, waving off her words; it didn't matter if you were 14 or 34, you always stayed a child to your parents. "Great to see you, dad!" he said as he hugged his father. Thomas' dad was a quiet person who loved nature and his family and who had never bought into the nonsense of men not showing their feelings, raising his son to be just as sensitive and caring, and therefore, hugs were obligatory in their family. "Thomas, my boy," Mr Edison Senior answered, "I missed you."

Out of the corners of his eye, Thomas saw his mother hug his daughter, going on about how tall and beautiful she was and how she had gotten her immaculate sense of dressing from her grandmother. When Teresa and Chuck joined the welcome committee, space was scarce, so they accompanied their guests into the dining are.

Everyone wasn't even seated yet when the door rang again, and one glance at Brenda told Thomas that she would not open the door a second time. So Teresa excused herself and returned a minute later with her parents.

Mr and Mrs Agnes couldn't have looked more out of place next to Thomas' parents, who were comfortably dressed in woolly sweaters. Mrs Edison, who was tall and blonde and very skinny, wore a crimson velvet dress, and her husband, who was just as tall, was clad in a suit. It didn't matter that Teresa told them every single year to dress casually; their way of dressing was meant to intimidate the others, no doubt, and everyone had long since stopped caring. Thomas just took their outfits - yet again - as a sign of ill will.

They all rose again to greet Teresa's parents, but there were no hugs this time, just handshakes. Teresa's family had always been the stiff one, and not for the first time, Thomas was in awe at how these two cold people could have raised his fun, easy-going wife.

"Did you have a good trip?" Thomas asked his father-in-law as they shook hands, but it was his mother-in-law who answered.

"Traffic was awful. Brenda, child, do you really think you should be wearing a dress like that?" she said, disapproval plain in her voice. Brenda smiled at her happily.

"Yes, grandma, I do think this is the perfect choice for me," she answered, and winked at her other grandmother, who winked back. Thomas felt his mother-in-law's disapproving glance fall onto him, and to free himself of it, he got to his feet. "Wine, everyone?"

...

Compared to all the terrible dinners Thomas had spent with his in-laws, that year's Thanksgiving dinner went rather well. Mr and Mrs Agnes were dying to know more about Teresa's hospital project, and the remaining Edisons were free to talk among themselves. The dinner really was delicious, and Thomas was content listening to his children tell their grandparents all about school and their social lives, and his parents, perfect grandparents that they were, listened intently. Therefore, he had time to listen, watch, and reflect. Teresa seemed excited to tell her parents all about her project, and she looked more alive than she had in weeks. Had he not been listening enough to her? They had rarely been awake at the same time, but when they weren't fighting, Thomas thought that he did a great job at being her husband. Watching his in-laws, on the other hand, was beyond awkward. It was plain that there was no love between them any more, but that their fear of being alone kept them together, and it was beyond sad. Thomas had always thought of Teresa's parents as a negative example of how a marriage shouldn't turn out, and he had always thought that he and his wife would always be happy and lucky in love like his own parents still were after decades of marriage. Only now he wasn't so sure about that any more. This whole dinner, this whole event felt like pretending; he didn't, he realised, want to be here; he didn't want to spend a whole holiday cooking for someone he didn't like, and he didn't want to watch Teresa and him become the sort of couple who resented each other in the end. He wanted what his parents had; he wanted everything to be simple again. And, he realised, he wanted Newt.

Feeling an anxiety attack coming up, he excused himself from the table, pretending to check something in the kitchen, and fled the room. In the empty kitchen, removed from all the clattering of utensils and raised voices, Thomas tried to breathe deeply and get his bearings. He had thought he could do this, he had thought he could just pretend to be a happy family father, like he had been for so long. But he couldn't, and it was taking its toll on him. He didn't feel comfortable in his own home anymore. He felt like a prisoner.

"Tom?"

Thomas turned around to see that his father had joined him. He tried to control his breathing, but it was no good; he was still close to hyperventilation.

A worried look appeared on his father's face. "What's wrong, son?" he asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Thomas started to nod, but then checked himself and shook his head. "I am not very happy at the moment," he whispered, and tried to take another deep breath.

"That's it. Deep breath. It's okay." His father knew exactly what to say; he had helped Thomas through more than one anxiety attack as a young adult. Edison Senior leaned next to his son against the counter, mirroring his posture. With their tall build and dark hair, they probably looked very much alike. "I heard that Teresa is very successful. Do you feel left alone with the kids and the house?"

It was amazing how well his father still knew him, even though they only talked on the phone once or twice a week. "Yeah," Thomas verified. "I just don't feel appreciated any more. Or supported. Or loved, really." In, out. Slowly. _Just keep breathing._

His father looked at him with those kind, dark eyes. "Oh, my boy," he said, "maybe it's time that you stand up for yourself a bit more. It's not your job to clean up after Teresa, like you have done for sixteen years now. Maybe it's high time you look to your own happiness."

Thomas stared at his father. _Look to your own happiness._ Maybe it was time. Without knowing it, his father had just said the words that he had needed to hear for so long. "Thanks, dad," he finally said after studying his face for a bit more. "I think I will do that." His father squeezed his shoulder once more, and then they left the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and another of wine as alibis for their trip to the kitchen.

...

Midnight was approaching fast when Thomas finally put the last cleaned dishes back into their respective cupboards. His family had been exhausted after hours of polite conversation, and when both sets of parents had left shortly after ten, he'd taken Chuck to bed and told Teresa to catch up on some sleep - he would clean up. His wife, tired but happy, had been grateful and had excused herself with a sleepy peck on the cheek that had been adorable. Thomas had been way too wired to think of sleep, and so he had listened to some quiet music and got started on the washing-up.

And now that everything was in order again, he still didn't want to go to sleep. He sneaked a glance at his phone. 11:50. Should he...?

Newt picked up after the second ring. "Are you okay?"

Thomas couldn't help but smile at his lover's concerned reaction. "I am. I just needed to hear your voice. Did I disturb anything?"

The blond chuckled. "I'm British, Tommy. I don't buy into your weird traditions. No party to disturb here."

The young teacher made sure the kitchen door was closed before sitting down on one of the bar stools. "Right."

"What's wrong, Tommy? You sound... Exhausted?" Newt's voice was soft, all cockiness gone from his tone.

"That's because I am." Thomas took a deep breath. "Newt, I can't do this any more. I need a break from it all. And... I need to be with you." He didn't add all the thoughts running round in his head. _I need to touch you. I need to feel you. I need you to make love to me and know that you really care._

"Let's do it, then." Determination defined Newt's next sentences. "My mum's on night shift all weekend. Pays well. We can get away for the night. Go somewhere. Or you can always come here. Leave your car at home, pretend the coach picks you up. That would mean fewer witnesses."

Thomas nodded before realising that Newt couldn't see him. "That sounds..." Suddenly, he had to fight back tears. "Sounds great," he finally managed.

Newt's voice was back to being soft and caring. "I know, Tommy. It's all I want, too. I can't wait to wake up next to you."

"Me too." These words came easier. "When shall I be there?"

"Night shift starts at 9, so she'll leave around 8:15. Let's say 8:30?"

Thomas couldn't resist using the Romeo and Juliet quote. "'Tis twenty years till then."

Newt chuckled at the other end of the line. "That's my line, you dork. God, always when I think I couldn't be more into you..." He trailed off, but Thomas knew what he meant. He felt the same about the blond; Newt would do something or say something especially witty or incorporate a reference to a movie or book in a conversation and Thomas' adoration would grow. "Same," he simply said, and they were quiet for a moment, listening to the other's silence with perfect content.

"I'll see you then," Newt finally said, and, because he was stubborn, he added, "'Tis twenty years till then."

"Good night, Romeo," Thomas whispered, expecting the obligatory Juliet joke from Newt, calling him a fair damsel or something, but Newt simply whispered "Good night" back. He was probably also nervous about the following evening, which made Thomas feel better about his own emotions. 

Because not twenty-four hours later he would be sleeping with Newt. He would be spending the night with someone who wasn't his spouse, and it would be a man, for the first time in his life. Anxiety was welling up inside Thomas, and he got himself a sip of whiskey from the bottle he kept in his study for special moments because he needed to calm down.

But also because he needed to celebrate.

Because honestly? He couldn't wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me, guys, even though I'm a horrible person and never post!! <3  
> I hope you liked this chapter; I needed a sort of filling chapter before we can get the real stuff going again, so yeah, sorry if that wasn't too thrilling.  
> I would love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment or hit me up on tumblr, I am a sucker for respectful feedback :3  
> Thanks again and loads of love xxx


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newtmas happens. Enjoy :)

To say that Thomas slept well that night would have been an outright lie. He managed to rest fitfully for a few hours, but he still woke up really early and tried to come up with a plan for the evening. He needed to contact Minho and tell him that they were "going to New York" together that night. He needed a cover story. And he needed to make it through the day without going insane.

Of course, calling Minho at 5:30 on a day on which he didn't have to teach was both extremely stupid and incredibly dangerous. So he texted him to please get in touch as soon as he could, threw on his running clothes and went for a run.

Running was the ideal coping mechanism as it took Thomas' mind off things; when he was running, his brain stopped all its worrying, and the reflexes kicked in. There was only the cold, dark air around him, his movements, his breathing, the Kygo remix coming from his earphones. Nothing to think about but the next step, the next breath to take, the next mile to complete. He followed the deserted streets through the little town, moving from streetlight to streetlight in the foggy darkness. It didn't really matter where he was going; it felt good to just move and not procrastinate. Thomas felt like he was the only person awake on this Black Friday, and it was an amazing (and certainly untrue) thought.

He realized exactly how untrue it was when he saw another figure jogging towards him through the fog. Curious as to who would be as crazy as him to go running in the darkness on a misty November morning, he sped up his pace, and when the figure approached a streetlight, Thomas actually stopped.

It was Newt.

He was wearing a bright green running jacket and matching running shoes. His blond hair was a mess, his cheeks were brightly red, and he looked so lost in the music coming from his earphones that Thomas didn't dare to wave. It wasn't necessary, though, because when he was about ten feet from his teacher, Newt glanced up, and a mixture of surprise, shock and delight took over his features. He tore his earphones from his ears and stared at him.

"Tommy!" he exclaimed, apparently oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of a street, in a very public space. "What are you doing here?" He eagerly crossed the distance between them, but didn't touch him - his nickname was all the caresses Thomas was going to get. For now.

"Same as you," Thomas answered as he gazed into Newt's eyes. "I never knew you were a runner?"

Newt nodded. "I used to love it, but I hurt myself a couple years back, so I had to stop all my marathon ambitions. Now it's just a minor hobby." He rolled his shoulders, stretching. "You're up early, though."

Thomas shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."

Newt's blush deepened. "Me neither. And running usually takes my mind off things."

Thomas grinned. "Same. But apparently I can't outrun my thoughts this time. They seem to follow me." He extended his hand to brush it against Newt's, and the blond stared at their connected hands, a small smile on his face. When he looked up again, the longing in his dark eyes almost took Thomas' breath away. "I will see you later, okay?" he said, "I need to run, like, ten miles now to forget how good you look in those trousers."

Thomas laughed. "Same to you, sir. Don't judge me if I think about you in the shower later."

Newt's eyes went wide, and his laugh chased away all the shyness from his expression. "Blimey," he said, "But as long as you can still work magic tonight - okay!"

Now it was Thomas' turn to blush, and Newt winked, blew him a kiss, and started running into the opposite direction. The young teacher stared after him, or, more precisely, stared at his butt, until the blond was swallowed by fog. He found himself _newted_ again - being shamelessly flirted with and then left to stare at his retreating figure while still in awe at his coolness.

Standing there, Thomas knew that any chance at running giving him peace had just been destroyed, and so he turned and ran back home, already too aware that there was no way he wouldn't be thinking of Newt in running clothes in the shower.

...

When he was freshly showered, Thomas dressed casually and went downstairs to make smoothies and breakfast muffins, simply because it would keep him busy and despite the fact that there was still plenty of cake. He had breakfast alone, as his family was still asleep, and then took a cup of coffee to his study to get started on grading some junior essays. Minho still hadn't texted, but he hadn't really expected him to do so before 9 am. So Thomas spent a comfortable morning doing schoolwork, the occasional family member checking in on him and him confirming that yes, there was breakfast downstairs.

At some point, Thomas walked downstairs to get more coffee and found his son in front of the TV, his wife at the dining room table reading through some report and his daughter munching muffins in the kitchen, and since everyone seemed well taken care of, he went back to his study.

His phone rang as he was reading through the sixteenth essay that morning, and the sound of his ringtone, though expected, made him jump a little. Thomas checked that the door was closed before picking up.

"Hey Minho!"

He heard a yawn at the other end of the line. "What's wrong, hermano? What could possibly be so important that you want me to call me as soon as I wake up?"

Thomas ignored the remark about it still being early. "I need you to be my alibi tonight."

The rise in Minho's interest was almost audible. "Oooh got a hot date with your mystery woman?"

"Something like that." The young English teacher couldn't help but grin quietly. "I told Teresa we're maybe going to New York, so I'd greatly appreciate it if you could, you know, cover for me in case I need you to."

"Sure." Minho chuckled. "I've got indoor plans tonight, anyway, so that shouldn't be a problem."

"That's good," Thomas said.

There was a bit of silence.

"You really want me to ask about your plans, don't you?"

"Yes, please," Minho answered, his voice small.

Thomas sighed. "So, Minho, tell me, what are your plans?"

"Funny you should ask." The coach sounded eager. "Remember when you told me to have sex with the French language assistant?"

Thomas threw up his empty hand in exasperation. "I certainly never told you to have sex with the French language assistant!"

But Minho wasn't listening. "Well, it turns out that she rather likes to have sex with me, too. So that's what I'm doing tonight - pardon the pun."

The young English shook his head in silence. "I'm so happy for ya."

"Thanks." Minho sounded well pleased with himself. "So in case Teresa asks, we're going to stay at my brother's. He's learned that he's gonna have an exhibition in a very hip location, but he's recently broken up and wants to celebrate with the boys tonight."

That sounded reasonable. Thomas really liked Minho's artsy younger brother Taeyang (which was a very humble, self-chosen name), who was a passionate painter and had already had a few exhibitions, but was still waiting for his big break while waiting tables. "Is any of that true?"

"Well, Taeyang is going to have another exhibition, and some dude broke up with him, but all he wants to do is wallow." Thomas could hear the coffee maker through the phone now.

"I'm so happy for him," the English teacher said. "Because of the exhibition, not the breakup, I mean."

But Minho seemed to have lost interest in their conversation, given the slurping noises that were now perfectly audible. "Alright, Edison, let's do it like that. Park my car in front of my place if you need to."

"Thanks, man. Really. I owe you," Thomas said, hoping his gratitude would come across as genuine.

Minho snorted. "When do you ever not?" he asked rhetorically, and with that, he hung up the phone.

Thomas grinned. Maybe Minho wasn't a morning person, but he was still an amazing friend.

...

If Teresa minded his going away that night, she didn't show.

"Why are you only leaving at 8, though?" she asked, sorting through some papers on her desk.

Thomas shrugged. "Oh, you know. We'll be there at 10:30, which is still practically afternoon for the hip New York club scene." He put on a sheepish grin. "I honestly think Minho and I are too old for this, but you know, Taeyang is really excited and I think it might be good for me to have a guys' night out."

Teresa looked up and smiled. "Oh, yes, absolutely," she said. "And you're not old. You still look like your college-self, Tom. It's good for you to let go of all the seriousness of adulthood every now and then." Thomas thought about how she didn't exactly practice what she preached, but he kept his mouth shut.

...

And so, at eight that evening, Thomas grabbed his overnight bag, kissed his family goodbye and got into his car to drive to Minho's. The whole afternoon had gone by painfully slowly, and it felt so good to be moving again. The mist hadn't cleared throughout the whole day, and he drove slowly, even though the anticipation was killing him.

When Thomas arrived at Minho's, he parked his car and immediately embarked on the twenty-minute walk to Newt's house. He tried to keep his mind busy by listening to a podcast, but really, it didn't help all that much. His thoughts were racing, and the butterflies in his stomach were apparently working on a Latin-dance choreography.

He was so nervous. This was all he had wanted since the first day of school, and now that it was really happening, he felt like somehow he had to sabotage his luck. Like he didn't deserve it. Like something needed to happen and ruin this moment.

But nothing happened, and Thomas arrived at the house at 8:31. A text message from Newt had announced that the coast was clear, and standing there, in front of the door, Thomas knew that his life was about to change.

He pressed the bell button.

Just like the first time he had been at Newt's house, the door flew open immediately, and there he was. Newt. They stared at each other for a few seconds; Thomas noticed that Newt was wearing a dark-blue, expensive-looking shirt, as if they were going on a proper date, but his blond hair was as ruffled as always. "Hi," they both said at the same time, then chuckled about it.

"Come in, please," Newt said, and it felt strangely formal, but Thomas didn't hesitate one second and stepped into the house. He put his bag on the floor next to the door, and then they were gazing into each other's eyes again.

"Finally," Thomas whispered, and he saw Newt smile, and then he couldn't stand it anymore, he had to kiss him, because if he didn't, he felt as if something terrible would happen, as if the universe would implode if the two of them would go on only another minute without touching each other.

So he kissed him.

Thomas had thought about this moment a lot, but he hadn't expected the absolute urgency that would define their touches. Sure, they were always passionate, but this was a whole other level. Not three seconds into the kiss, they had their hands all over each other, and Thomas was already fumbling with Newt's shirt buttons while he could feel the blond stroke his lower back, moving his shirt upwards in doing so.

Their kiss was messy and sloppy, and Thomas had to break it (which was a shame, because all Thomas ever wanted was to kiss Newt and continue kissing him) quickly to get Newt's shirt off him, and a panting Newt seized the moment to push his teacher's shirt over his head. Then they were kissing again, naked chests pressed together in a fierce embrace, their shirts discarded on the floor. Thomas pushed Newt against the door, and even though he shivered with the cold of the surface against his back, he didn't stop kissing him for even one second. The young teacher felt himself become hard, and thanks to their close contact, he could feel that the same was true for Newt. He moaned as he felt their groins press together, and a similar sound escaped Newt's throat.

"Bedroom," he whispered, staring into Thomas' eyes, his pupils huge. Thomas had barely time to nod before Newt grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs.

Thomas had been in Newt's room before, fooling around on the bed with his student, but he couldn't have recounted a single detail about it, apart from the fact that the bed was very comfortable. It was the exact same bed he found himself on now, Newt straddling his hips. He rocked his own hips, and Thomas groaned at the friction he felt. He needed this so much, and the glinting in Newt's eyes told him that he felt the same. They shared another passionate kiss, and Thomas' hands slid down to the blond's ass, under his jeans, grasping him tightly, and Newt gasped.

Thomas knew that if they didn't slow down, it would all be over in a few minutes. And in a way, he wanted it to be; he wanted the burning fire between them to consume them both. But this was not some desperate, sneaky hook-up. They had the whole night to them.

Thomas broke the kiss, and when Newt raised his eyebrows in disbelief, he whispered: "Do you mind if we slow down a bit? I want to really appreciate our - our first time." He gulped.

Newt looked down at him, and a kind smile appeared on his lips. "Whatever you need, Tommy." He bent down to kiss him again, and this time, it was just as sensual, but a little slower. 

Thomas then took the chance to flip them over and settle next to Newt to really look at him. Shirtless Newt was a revelation - he was more muscular than Thomas would have anticipated, and his hands were practically glued to the blond's abs, stroking the defined muscles in awe.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, looking into Newt's eyes, and the blond blushed fiercely. "No one’s ever called me beautiful before," he answered, and the young teacher shook his head. "They must not have had eyes, then." And he kissed Newt again.

Their pants stayed on a little while longer because really, Newt's body was a wonderland and his chest or neck alone would have been enough to keep Thomas busy for hours. He showered him with tiny kisses and got him groaning as he played with his nipples; they were more sensitive than he would have thought, and seeing Newt panting like that made his own desire burn even hotter.

Finally, Newt apparently couldn't stand it any more, and Thomas found himself under him once again. "I'm sorry," the blond moaned, "but I need you to take your trousers off and make love to me now or I'll come in my pants and I really don't want that."

Thomas knew that the anxiety he felt was stupid. This was it, though, and he was nervous. "Okay, so ... How do you want to do this?" he asked, uncertain of what the correct etiquette of gay sex was. It was obvious that Newt had plenty of experience, but Thomas felt completely lost.

Newt reached into Thomas' pants and the young teacher moaned as he felt his student touch his erection. "I am ready. I prepared myself in advance. I-" He chuckled, but continued his slow strokes, "I didn't think we would want to spend a lot of time on it."

"Good - ahhh - good thinking," Thomas sighed, meeting Newt's touch eagerly. He knew Newt was doing that to calm him, and while it was working psychologically, his physical state was the exact opposite of calm.

He felt Newt edge even closer, felt his breath against his ear. "I fingered myself earlier, thinking of you in your tight running trousers. You look so good, do you know that?" His words were just tiny whispers in his ear, but Thomas shuddered with their content, and another moan escaped his throat. "And we can always do a slow second round. I would love to introduce you to gay 69 - it's a beautiful thing. I'm sure you'll be amazing at giving head. But right now, Tommy, I need you to be inside me. I need you to take me like you've thought about for weeks. I need you to fuck-" That was when Thomas couldn't take it anymore - he tore off his pants and underwear, accepted the condom Newt was holding out to him, and, seconds later, pressed the blond into the mattress.

"Please, Tommy," Newt whispered as Thomas lubed himself up and used his wet fingers to stroke Newt's tight entrance. "Please. I need you." His pupils were blown with desire, and Thomas was sure he had never seen anything so sexy as the naked blond man under him. Without further ado, he slowly sank into him.

They both sighed at the sensation; Thomas had never felt anything like it, and he cupped Newt's cheek and kissed him while waiting for him to adjust. Then he started to move, and despite the fact that he had wanted to go slow, it felt so good that his movements grew frantic within seconds. Newt made the most delicious noises, moans of pleasure that went straight to Thomas' erection, which caused him to move even more quickly.

Wrapping his own hand around Newt's hard member, he let go of all inhibitions, thrusting and stroking at the some time while kissing his lover messily. All too quickly, Newt's moans grew louder and higher, and he looked into Thomas' eyes when he came, causing Thomas to fall over the edge as well.

They lay panting for a few seconds. Thomas knew for a fact that he had never had better sex in his entire life. He hugged Newt and pressed a kiss to his lips, which turned into a lazy post-coital make-out session while he felt himself go soft inside Newt.

Finally, Newt drew back and grinned at him. "So, welcome to the gay side," he said, and Thomas chuckled. "Thanks, I rather like it here," he answered, and the two of them shared a smile.

"Seriously though." Newt looked a bit worried. "How are you feeling? I mean... I've had guys freak out in the past after their first time with a man. You sure you're okay?"

Thomas shook of the weird jealousy he felt of _guys in the past_ and nodded. "I'm fine. No, I'm perfect. I just had sex with the man I want more than anything. How could I be anything less than perfect?"

Newt's answering smile was small, but it seemed to fill the room like a second sun, and Thomas melted.

They lay together on the bed for an infinite moment, in comfortable silence, Thomas looking down at Newt, his fingers slowly gliding up and down his arm, Newt with his eyes closed, practically purring under his touch like a lazy tomcat. It was perfect, peaceful, and Thomas could have stayed in that moment forever.

Newt, apparently, was of a different opinion, because the blond sat up, then, and the absolute confidence with which he carried his naked body was beautiful to look at. "How about dinner?"

Thomas was confused - that seemed like a pretty quick change of topic. "Dinner?"

Newt grinned. "Sure - what kind of host would I be to let you starve? You need sustenance, Tommy. Also, I though cooking together, semi-naked, would be a really cool thing to do. Or should I make something for you while you wait here?" A tiny crease of worry formed on his forehead, and Thomas wanted to kiss it off, so he did.

"Cooking together, semi-naked, sounds amazing."

...

They almost burned the pumpkin because of excessive kissing, but their pasta turned out amazing, and they ate together in bed, watching an episode of Newt's favourite TV show. It felt so domestic, so perfectly normal, that Thomas did his best to push away the thought that actually, this was just a tiny break from his normal life. He wanted to stay in this bed forever, do nothing but sleep and cuddle and talk and make out and have sex and eat pasta. That sounded like a pretty good life to him.

"Would you like some more pasta?" Newt asked, and, as Thomas nodded, he took his plate and bent down to the pot standing unceremoniously on the floor. As the blond handed him his food, Thomas looked at him, the handsome young man with the carefree smile on his face.

"Newt?"

"Yeah?" He looked up at him.

"I think I love you." Thomas hadn't meant to say that, not today, but then and there, he just felt it, and he also felt the need to say it. Feelings weren't meant to be kept inside, they were meant to be expressed, communicated, shared. He had carried this weight along for too long, and as much anxiety as it gave him to experience anything like this affair, it also made him happier than any other relationship had ever made him, and Newt needed to know. Thomas needed him to know that he meant the world to him.

Newt didn't seem surprised, the way the young teacher had anticipated; no, he looked as if someone had just told his seven-year-old self that it would be Christmas every day for a year. His smile was too big for his face, and he practically laughed his next words, "Oh, thank God! I thought you'd never say it, and I really want to say it, too. I love you, Tommy." Thomas hadn't expected this uncomplicated, pure, delighted reaction, and he leaned in to kiss Newt, but the blond held out a hand. "Stop. Put your plate down first, I only put these sheets on two hours ago, I don't want them to get all pasta-y." His face was mock-serious, but the twinkle in his eyes showed exactly happy he was.

Thomas laughed whole-heartedly, but put his plate down on the floor. "Honestly, I didn't expect us to be bickering about bed sheets that early on," he said, and then kissed a giggling Newt, and it was a great kiss, tasting not only of pumpkin, but of hope that everything would be okay.

...

They had sex again that night, because honestly, no TV show could be so good that it could take Thomas' eyes off Newt in his boxer briefs. It wasn't slow, though, and it wasn't controlled, it was just as passionate and unrestricted as the first time, but maybe that was just who they were, and it was okay. More than okay, it was perfect and exciting and new and amazing.

Newt didn't want to go to sleep, and so they took a shower and stayed up cuddling and talking until they couldn't keep their eyes open anymore, falling asleep while still holding on to the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends,  
> I hope you enjoyed this train wreck of a smut chapter :D I'd love to hear your thoughts, so maybe please leave me a comment or come say hi on tumblr, I'd greatly appreciate the feedback :)  
> I wish you all happy holidays and I will update asap, I promise :)  
> Loads of Newtmas love xx


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas wakes up next to Newt, meets Newt's mother again, and comes out to his best friend. Yes, it's one of those chapters where not that much happens... I'm sorry. We need those, too.

Thomas hadn't wanted to fall asleep at all, but waking up next to Newt was easily one of the loveliest experiences he had ever had. Sure, the moment his alarm sounded and every cell in his body screamed that it was way too early wasn't that great, especially since his body was right - four hours of sleep weren't nearly enough - but when he turned, groaning, he opened his eyes to a shock of blond hair, and a smile automatically took over his face. He inched towards Newt, pulling him closer so his back was pressed against Thomas' chest. The blond yawned, and Thomas raised his head a bit to watch him, and he wasn't disappointed: as tough as Newt sometimes looked, when he yawned, he resembled a tiny kitten more than an eighteen-year-old man.

"Good morning," Thomas whispered. A grunt was the only answer he got, but the young man in front of him pressed himself into the embrace, so as to let his lover know he wasn't annoyed at him in particular but just at waking up early.

Thomas pressed a few tiny kisses to Newt's neck, and his protesting grunts soon turned into a soft giggle that made Thomas' heart jump with a cuteness-overload. "Stop it, Tommy," Newt said in a mock-grumpy voice, and he swiftly turned onto his back to capture the next kiss with his own lips. The speed took Thomas aback, and he almost bumped his forehead against Newt's before they shared a soft good-morning-kiss.

"Good morning, Tommy," the blond said when he had slowly opened his eyes. He looked happier than Thomas had ever seen him, and that alone was worth all the hassle of having to organise their sleepover. The expression on Newt's face could have ended wars and cured illnesses, Thomas was sure of it, because looking down at him, leaning on his elbow, he had never seen anything so pure and so lovely.

"Why me?" Thomas asked, without actually meaning to - he had never before asked himself this question, but now that he was looking at Newt, this perfect, talented, wonderful young man who would probably be a star one day, he wondered what he could possibly be seeing in him.

Newt, who was stifling another yawn, blinked up at him, his look confused. "I beg your pardon?"

Thomas smiled at the formality of the remark. "I was just wondering... Why you would choose me if you could have all the other men out there?" He didn't mean to sound nervous, but he probably did. Did he really want to know the truth?

Newt put his head on Thomas' shoulder as best as he could, considering the fact that his lover leaning on one arm. "That's an awfully complicated question this early in the morning, love," he murmured, closing his eyes again, cuddling up against Thomas' chest.

That wasn't quite the answer Thomas had expected, and he looked down at Newt, playing with a strand of his hair, waiting for an elaboration.

The blond seemed the sense that his lover wasn't happy, so he opened his eyes again and blinked up at him. "You want me to tell you why I love you? Now? Really?"

The brunet shook his head, realising that maybe he had been just a little bit silly. "No, it's fine," he said, but Newt scrutinized him a few more seconds and apparently came to the conclusion that it was not fine. "Oh, come here, you giant baby," he said, and pulled Thomas into a hug so that his head came to rest on Newt's chest. Nice perspective, really, he had to admit, he thought as he found himself eye to eye with the blond's abs.

Newt started stroking his head softly, suddenly very tender, and Thomas felt like he was about to start purring. They stayed like that for some time. He didn't think his lover was actually going to say something, and really, he was fine with that, because just cuddling like this was perfect, and he could easily have fallen asleep again like that, but then, Newt spoke.

"I can't really pinpoint it, you know," he mused, lowly, as if he was really thinking about Thomas' question, as the brunet knew he was. "Everyone treated me like a raw egg on the first day. Not you - you were so honest. You told me I could just be who I was in your class, and you talked to me as if I was your equal. And when you caught me in Mr Einstein's office, you tried to find out the real story, and you listened instead of just having me kicked out. I loved the detention sessions with you, by the way. I was sad when they stopped." Newt chuckled quietly. "I knew it would be hard for you. I mean, it was bloody obvious you'd had no experience with men at all, that you didn't even know what was going on between us. But I felt a connection early on, and I thought that if I could just get you to see that - and you saw it. It was there, in your eyes, the first time I touched you."

Thomas knew Newt wasn't finished, so he didn't say anything.

"And then the whole acting thing. You were so lovely about it all the time. You still are. You're an amazing teacher, and in addition to the attraction that was just _there_ , I began to see that the person behind that job is just as amazing. You always see the best in people, and you're so fair and try to help everyone. You're incredibly smart and so infuriatingly _handsome_ , I mean, how could I not have fallen for you? You're a bloody _jackpot_ , Thomas Alpha Edison."

Thomas was silent for a few seconds, trying very hard not to cry. It helped that he wasn't looking at Newt's face.

He knew he would say something ridiculous, so he just said: "And you know my middle name from your illegal visit to the principal's office?"

"Yup." Newt sounded very casual about it.

"I thought so." He looked up at the blond and saw his eyes glisten in a suspicious way. "That was the greatest declaration of love anyone has ever made me."

Newt grinned. "I thought so. And now that that's out of the way - should we have some breakfast?"

Thomas was taken aback. "Romeo doesn't want Juliet to exchange her love's faithful vow for his? That's not in the script!" he said, hinting at how desperate Shakespeare's Romeo is to hear Juliet say she loves him too after he first says it.

The blond laughed wholeheartedly, and the sound was like sunshine in Thomas' soul. "I thought we had already figured out that I am just irresistibly amazing," he grinned, pressed a kiss to Thomas' forehead, and jumped out of bed. Thomas, realising he'd just been _Newted_ again, could do nothing but smile like a fool. And it felt amazing to do that.

...

Even though Newt had planned on making breakfast for them, Thomas thought that the least he could do for his ... _boyfriend?_... was to put his breakfast skills to use. After all, it was his favourite meal of the day, and he was good at it. So they struck up the deal that Newt would make tea and Thomas would make pancakes. "Real American pancakes," he grinned at the blond, who playfully rolled his eyes.

It was still quite dark outside, but in order to avoid Mrs Isaac, they had to have an early start, which was just fine with Thomas. This, right there, Newt humming a song while pouring tea, his hair a perfect bedhead, the sweatpants low on his hips, was worth all the inconveniences in the world, early mornings included. The young teacher knew that he shouldn't have been as happy as he was, but he couldn't help it.

They sat down at the dining table to eat, and Thomas watched Newt pretend he didn't like the pancakes when he totally did.

"Admit it, you love them," he laughed. "You're not that good at acting."

Newt raised his eyebrows. "I most certainly am," he objected, and Thomas was about to be insecure about his cooking skills when the blond broke down in a giggle. "You should see your face, Tommy!" he exclaimed delightedly, interrupted by giggles. "Of course your pancakes are delightful. Just like everything about you is." And he leaned over to kiss the confused look off Thomas' face.

When they broke apart, Newt's face took on the vulnerable expression he only allowed himself very rarely. "The truth is, I hate the fact that you'll be walking out that door not an hour from now," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "And I know we can't change anything about it. But I still hate it." 

Thomas looked into those dark eyes and saw that Newt really meant it; he had never thought the blond was playing with him or dishonest about his feelings, but at that moment, the expression in his eyes was so genuine that the young teacher was sure that nobody could have pretended to look so sad. Not even an Academy award winning actor or actress.

"I know," he simply answered, because there wasn't a whole lot more to say. Then an idea dawned on him. "How about I stay for a bit longer and we will tell your mother that I'm here to rehearse your Juilliard monologues with you? It's not implausible - nine in the morning is a perfectly reasonable time of day for a teacher, and at any rate, I can't show up at home that early; Teresa-" Newt flinched at Thomas' using his wife's first name - was it the first time he had done it? - and Thomas hated himself for it, "will know I've never actually been to New York."

Newt looked sceptical, and Thomas made a mental note never to use his wife's name again in his presence. "I'm not sure," he said, despite the fact that it was plain to see how much he wanted the brunet to stay. "Would you even do that for any other student?"

"Of course," Thomas answered promptly. "I am delighted whenever I manage to inspire students to choose a career in acting or to study English or literature. I have often read students' application essays and also helped them with their acting, just like I'm doing with you."

Newt's eyebrows shot up as he took a sip of his tea.

"Well, no - not exactly, I mean - you know - without all the feelings and the - the physical contact," Thomas stuttered, blushing, and Newt bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Well, alright then," Newt said, getting up. "How about you take a shower so you won't look like you've actually slept here, and I'll make us more tea? See you in the living room in fifteen?"

Thomas hesitated. "Don't you want to join me in the shower?"

Newt pressed a kiss to his temple. "Better not. I guess I wouldn't be able to resist you, and I really don't want my mum to know I'm shagging my teacher. Yet."

The brunet shrugged. "I guess." He smiled. "It's good to know I'm that irresistible."

Newt smiled gently. Even though he had been teasing his lover only seconds before, Newt knew that the thing Thomas needed the most was to feel loved, and the brunet loved him for it. "I can tell you every day, if you like, so you won't forget."

Thomas had to admit that sounded pretty damn great, but he didn't say anything, because he didn't trust his voice at that moment.

...

They were actually engrossed in Romeo's dying monologue when they heard the door unlock and Newt's mum shout a, "Good morning, if you're up!"

Thomas smiled. "That's a charming way of waking you up."

Newt looked at him sternly. "Concentrate, please, I'm dying here!"

His teacher pressed his lips together to keep his growing smile at bay. "Sorry."

Newt was just leaning over the couch, insisting that his eyes should take their last look at his love, when Mrs Isaac entered the room. She looked tired, clad in sweatpants, her ginger hair up in a messy bun, and her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her.

Thomas knew what he had to do. He got up swiftly. He knew how to talk to parents. Calmness and confidence, that's how you handled them. He knew the procedure like the back of his hand. "Mrs Isaac," he said, smiling charmingly, approaching her with an outstretched hand, which she shook, staring at him. "A very good morning to you. Newton and I were just going through a few scenes for the play. We didn't have enough time for Romeo's death scene on Friday, and I really didn't want to keep him in school too long and interfere with his study time, so we decided to do some more work on Sunday." He paused and chuckled winningly. "I take it you didn't know about that, judging from the look on your face."

Mrs Isaac shook her head. "No, I didn't." Finally, her smile caught up with her. "But that's wonderful. I'm so thankful for everything you're doing for Newton. You're a very dedicated teacher, and your students are lucky to have you." 

Thomas smiled and tried not to feel guilty about what he had done to her son last night. (Twice.) He really was a good teacher, and he would have invested just as much time and energy in getting Newt through his audition if he had not fallen in love with him.

"Thank you," he said. "Is it okay for us to work here, or will it keep you from getting the rest you need?"

The woman shook her head. "It's fine." She now glanced over at her son, who was still awkwardly leaning over the sofa as if it were his true love's coffin. "Why didn't you say anything, Newt? I could have brought something sweet home."

Newt shrugged, perfect in his role of the uncomfortable teenager. "Guess I just forgot to mention it. Sorry, mum. But there's tea and biscuits, so..." His accent was much more present when talking to his mother, Thomas noticed, and the same was also true for her. He found it to be quite endearing.

"Oh well," his mother shrugged. "Maybe next time." She stifled a yawn. "I'll excuse myself now. Have a good day, Mister Edison." She shook his hand again, threw her son a kiss, and left the room.

The two men listened to her making her way up the stairs. Then Thomas smiled at Newt. "Next time?" he asked.

Newt shrugged. "I guess that means mum won't be surprised from now on to find you in the house." His smile was diabolical. "I, as a matter of fact, think that to be very convenient." He winked, then rolled his eyes. "Let's go through it again, now, before you _interfere with my study time_... And yes, by studying, I mean snogging."

...

Shortly after eleven, Thomas unlocked the door to his own home and found it to be very quiet. After storing his bag in his office, he toured the house and found his son playing with his Star Wars Lego in his room and his daughter going through her Spanish vocabulary lists in hers.

"Hi dad," she said, glancing up from her book. "How was the city?"

Thomas shrugged, smiling. "I think I'm getting to old for going out," he said, and tried not to be hurt by the expression on Brenda's face, which quietly agreed with him. He leaned against the doorframe. "How are you?"

His daughter pointed at the Spanish book. "I've got a revision tomorrow. Will you quiz me later?"

"Sure," he answered. "Bren, do you know where your mum is?"

"At the office." Her voice sounded annoyed. "She left a note, saying she needs to catch up on something, and that we shouldn't wait with lunch."

"Huh." Thomas found that it was hard to be angry at Teresa for working on a Sunday when he had just spent the night with his... _boyfriend?_ "Alright. How about fish burgers for lunch? And we could play something in the afternoon if you want. Or I could help you with some school work if you'd like." Thomas had always refused to check his children's homework without being asked to or to write down their tests in his calendar - he always offered to help, though, and his kids would sometimes accept, and sometimes not.

Brenda smiled. "Sure." Glancing outside into the gloomy autumn day through her window, she said, "I don't need any help except Spanish. That is," she hesitated, "I'd love for you to read my article for the school magazine if that's okay?"

Thomas smiled. "I'd be happy to. I'm so proud of you for doing this." Brenda blushed, mumbling something about how she really needed to get on with her vocab revision. The young teacher closed the door behind himself, grinning at exactly how similar his daughter's behaviour was to his own.

...

Thomas spent a comfortable Sunday, making lunch for his children, quizzing his daughter on Spanish verbs, reading her article, which was really astonishingly good, and playing _Carcassonne_ with both Brenda and Chuck.

By the time Teresa came home, he was curled up on the couch with a new YA novel, and the sky outside was beginning to darken again.

"Hi Tom," she said, and her voice sounded so incredibly tired, even more tired than she looked. She put her bag onto the couch and slumped down next to him. "How was the city?"

Thomas gave her the same response he had given Brenda. "I'm getting to old for going out." He put his book down. "Would you like me to make you something to eat? Dinner is not for another two hours, we had a late lunch." Looking at his tired wife, Thomas couldn't resist offering his support. In some way, he still loved her, he knew that, and her happiness was still of high importance to him. Something had changed within him, there had been a gradual shift from Teresa to Newt, but Teresa was the mother of his children, and he had still not decided to leave her. Not really. He thought. Probably. But then again, when had Thomas ever known his own mind. Or heart.

His wife smiled, and suddenly she didn't look so tired any more. "That would be absolutely lovely." She looked sheepish. "Could it be something with sugar?"

He smiled back at her. "Of course."

And then he went to the kitchen to make one of Teresa's favourites - a breakfast wrap with plenty of peanut butter and fruit.

...

Later that evening, when Thomas was cutting the vegetables for the super food salad he was making for dinner, Teresa appeared in the kitchen, holding up something that he vaguely recognised to be a piece of clothing.

"Is that yours, Tom?" she asked. "It was in the washing machine with the rest of the underwear, but you don't have any of those."

Thomas realised Teresa was holding boxer briefs, the kind that models in underwear commercials wore, the kind he would never buy. "No, those are not mine," he answered, furrowing his brows. He had put the laundry into the machine - how could he not have noticed?

Teresa paled. "Is Brenda having sex? Tom, why do you not know about that? She tells you everything! Did you take her to get birth control? Oh my God, what if-"

Then Thomas had an epiphany, and he interrupted her. "No, wait, it's Minho's," he lied swiftly. "I borrowed it last night. We got soaked in the city. That's also why we went to bed so soon last night."

Teresa looked annoyed. "Then why didn't you say so immediately? I was well on my way to panicking about my fifteen-year-old's sex life!" She rolled her eyes and left the kitchen, mumbling something about how lending someone underwear was gross.

Thomas closed his eyes for a second, silently thanking the universe for the idea of saying it was Minho's.

_"Why do you look so ridiculously good in those ridiculous briefs?" Thomas asked sincerely, enjoying the freedom of openly checking out his almost naked lover. "What are you, a secret Calvin Klein model?"_

_Newt grinned and let himself fall onto the bed next to Thomas, playfully biting his shoulder. "I bet you'd look so hot in them, Tommy," he whispered, and Thomas shivered despite himself. "Would not," he mumbled pathetically, like the insecure teenager he sometime felt like in Newt's company._

_"I'd love for you to try a pair," Newt breathed, and goose bumps rose on Thomas' forearms. "Please, Tommy? Please?"_

_The brunet was of course completely helpless against that kind of begging, and so he voluntarily put on the briefs that Newt handed him a few minutes (or kisses) later._

_Which had led to an entirely different activity._

Which was why a pair of Newt's underwear had ended up in his possession.

Thomas wiped the sweat off his brow. Not for the first time, he was glad that Newt wasn't a girl.

...

On Monday, Minho found him during his free period while he was busy making copies of a poem he had planned on discussing with the juniors later that day.

His friend leaned against the wall, checking over his shoulder whether anyone was within earshot. Nobody was.

"So, how was your Saturday?" he asked, grinning, handing Thomas a much-needed cup of coffee; the moral wrongness of his deeds had kept him up half the night.

He couldn't help blushing when he thought of Saturday. "It was good. Thanks again for, you know, helping me," the brunet said, checking how many copies were left to be printed. Ten. 

Minho made an impatient gesture that almost caused coffee to be spilt on Thomas' poems. "Oh come on, Edison, give me some details! At least tell me who she is!"

Thomas stared at Minho, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to tell him that there wasn't another _she_ in his life. He weighed his options. Would Minho be appalled to find out his best friend was actually... Bisexual? If that was what he was? Pansexual? Did it even matter right now?

He decided to take the risk. He had to. If he didn't tell someone soon, he'd go mad.

Thomas took a deep breath. "He," he simply said, looking into Minho's eyes.

His friend looked confused. "Come again?"

There was no going back now. "It's a he, Minho, not a she." He looked down. The machine had finished copying the poem, so he busied himself gathering the copies in order to escape the coach's silence.

"Huh," Minho said, and Thomas looked up to meet his gaze. "Didn't know you swing that way, but - okay." The nonchalance of his behaviour made Thomas want to laugh out loud. "Neither did I," he admitted with a shrug. "I guess it's just that one person, really."

His friend nodded, processing what he'd heard. Then his stupid grin returned. "Well, at least you can't accidentally get someone pregnant, then - again, I might add - with your powerful manhood."

Thomas punched him in the shoulder, and Minho openly laughed, getting his coffee mug to safety.

And just like that, Thomas had come out to his best friend. It hadn't been horrible - it had been a relief, really - and even though he knew that perhaps nobody else in his life would take the news so lightly, it felt good to know that there was at least someone who had his back, no matter what.

The feeling elevated him throughout the day, because for the first time in weeks, he thought that maybe - just _maybe_ \- he would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends :)  
> I'm awfully sorry about the late update, what can I say, I was busy during the holidays... But if for you school commences again tomorrow like it does for me, consider this little chapter a gift for an easy start :)  
> I hope you guys liked what I did, and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)  
> Thank you for bearing with me, I wanted this to be 50k in total, but I promise that shit is going to get real soon ;)  
> Loads of love xxx


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas makes a mistake.

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou-"

"Stop!" Thomas called, and Sonya interrupted her dreamy monologue. "Try leaning against the railing. It's okay, it's quite solid!" Sonya smiled and nodded before starting it up again.

It was Friday, their opening night was only two weeks away, and the sets were finally, _finally_ , done. The balcony was nothing fancy, just like their whole production was characterized by a sober design, but it was perfect, and the fact that the stage was now done gave the whole group a new motivational push to give their very best. So far, Thomas was very content with his actors, and the only thing he had to comment on was how they should engage with the set.

The atmosphere was perfectly relaxed, but still excited. Everyone knew their lines, and the students were eager to put them to use. They sat along the edge of the stage, their feet dangling, watching the action on stage in respectful half-silence.

"Hm," Thomas said, sitting in the first row, "let me come up there, we'll try something." He climbed the stage and then walked up the twelve steps to the balcony. "How about if you do it like this?" he prompted, crossing his arms while he leaned on his elbows. Sonya mirrored his movement, and while they shortly discussed the various poses she could take, he could feel the others' attention slip. Newt, who was on stage and got bored very easily, started pacing, swinging his arms, although Thomas could tell he was actually watching him, just like he himself was always watching the blond.

Finally, Sonya had found a position she was comfortable with, and the young teacher was just climbing down, calling over to Newt, "Okay, Romeo, less pacing, more declarations of love!" The others giggled, and from the determined look on the blond's face, Thomas knew he'd challenged him to do something silly.

Newt stood in front of the balcony and cleared his throat.

"You're insecure, don't know what for, you're turning heads when you walk through the door," he began to sing in a surprisingly beautiful voice. Everyone was just too perplexed to call him out on it, so he continued, "Don't need make up to cover up, being the way that you are is enough." Sonya giggled nervously, someone had started to clap a long, and soon, they were all clapping. Newt turned to his audience, giving them a smile that Harry Styles himself would have been jealous of. "All together now!"

And the whole group joined him in the chorus, snapping and clapping along. Thomas couldn't keep from laughing as his theatre group, sprawled on the floor, knowing all the words to a One Direction song they would never have admitted to ever having heard outside this enclosed safe space.

"You don't know you're beautiful", they sang-shouted, slightly off-key, and the young teacher knew that this was a moment to remember.

"That's what makes you beautiful!" Newt concluded, his voice rough and rock star-like, and the whole room erupted in whooping and applause, and as he bowed, Thomas saw the blond wink at him before he turned around towards the balcony again and exclaimed, "What light through yonder window breaks!"

With any other student, Thomas would have rolled his eyes and interrupted the goofing around, but it was remarkable to see Newt snap out of the One Direction song and back into his character in a matter of seconds. The scene unfolded beautifully before his eyes, and Thomas only stopped it twice to suggest the blond climbed the balcony front for a bit if he could. Of course he could - apparently there was nothing Newt wasn't good at - but he still embraced the opportunity to casually touch the blond in front of everyone when he positioned his hand on a particular spot on the set piece. They shared a brief look, and Thomas knew that even though it was wrong, he enjoyed the thrill their secret gave him a bit too much.

Apart from Newt's mini-concert, the rehearsal went almost flawless. Still, they would be rehearsing all of Saturday morning; Rachel, who would work as the sound master at their play, had suggested to do a complete run through on a Saturday when everyone would be well-rested, and the group had embraced the idea with very few groans, especially when Thomas had suggested having breakfast during the break. They wouldn't use any microphones - those would only really have been needed if they had been singing songs, which they weren't - and the mostly quiet play would work fine without amplification. However, there was a bit of music in between the scenes and leading into them, so they would have to practise that, nonetheless, and Rachel, who had Spanish club during their regular rehearsal times, needed time to work out when to play what. Hence the Saturday rehearsal.

"Great work, as always, everyone!" Thomas called in the end. "I'm fairly certain this is going to be the best production I ever organised at this school. More like the best production ever organised at this school, full stop. You guys are really good. Now it's just important that you stay focused on what we're trying to do here, okay?" His actors nodded, their faces determined. "Fantastic. And now, about tomorrow's breakfast; as you know, I'm bringing muffins, and we can also use the facilities here to make coffee and tea. In case you want to bring something else, you're very welcome to do so." A few people laughed, others nodded, smiling, whispering to their neighbours that they would bring something.

"And that's it for today," Thomas ended the rehearsal, and the obligatory short applause resonated through the large room. Since they would continue their work the following morning, they didn't have to put any props away, and the young teacher enjoyed not having to collect all the swords in a very childish sort of way, grinning at Newt dropping his on the floor to spend the rest of the day and the night just where it landed. Newt caught his eye and gave him a quick smile; Thomas tried his best not to blush thinking about the quick kiss, the mini-make-out-session they had fit into their lunch break. Ever since sleeping with the blond, the young teacher felt more courageous in his feelings for him, and he didn't mind taking minor risks in order to keep Newt happy. Newt had given him so much already, and he felt like giving back.

Normally someone, usually Sonya, would stick around to ask Thomas for feedback, but today, they all seemed in a rush to go, except for Newt, of course, who sat on the edge of the stage, leaning on his hands, waiting for Thomas to finish turning off all the lights, regarding the empty seats that would be filled with their audience in exactly two weeks' time. He didn't look scared, exactly, but rather honoured. Thomas' heart did a summersault as he stood there, peering out from behind the curtain.

Newt didn't look up, so Thomas could just go on staring at his beautiful profile. "What muffins are you making?" he asked, apparently fully aware of his lover's gaze.

Thomas stepped forward to join Newt. "Blueberry and chocolate, I guess," he said, sitting down next to Newt. "Any special requests? I'm only getting the groceries after..." he felt his smile turn wolfish, "after you let me leave."

Newt grinned. "Never, then." He leaned in to kiss Thomas' cheek. "I don't have any requests, but I'd appreciate it if you put me one each aside so I can take part of you home afterwards." It was these statements that showed Thomas how sensitive Newt really was, and he loved them dearly. "Sure," he therefore said, smiling tenderly at his student/lover/actor/boyfriend. "Whatever you want."

The blond sighed. "Don't say that, though."

They were silent for a few seconds, during which Thomas mentally slapped himself. _Of course_ he couldn't give Newt whatever he wanted. He couldn't even give himself what he wanted. "Sorry."

Newt nodded. "It's fine, it's just that you are always so touchy about language in my essays, it feels good to point out that you're not the perfect speaker, either." He winked, and just like that, the sad mood was gone.

"Hey!" Thomas exclaimed, elbowing Newt jokingly, "I am still the one who knows more about language!"

His lover looked at him levelly. "Every man who has to say _I am the king_ is no real king." The brunet recognized the quote and broke into laughter, and Newt joined him. It felt great to goof around with him - young and free, despite all their problems. He jumped to his feet and pulled the blond up with him. "After you, Lord Tywin!"

...

Thomas stopped at the grocery store on the way back home and got everything he needed for baking. A text from his mother told him that everything was fine, she had picked up Chuck after school and he was keeping his grandpa busy with his questions about plants. Coming home, he found his living area filled with four teenage girls, watching something on TV and squealing. It was of course Brenda and her friends, and despite the fact that somehow, teenage girls all managed to look the same with their tank tops and straightened hair, he knew all their names.

"Ladies," he said upon walking in, and they giggled while Brenda turned the volume down a bit. "Miyoko, Ximena, Malia, nice to see you again." He smiled, pulling a bag of chips out of his grocery basket and throwing it at his daughter. "There, so you won't starve. Do you wanna order dinner or should I make you something?" They basically ran an open house policy, and Brenda could bring home friends whenever she wanted, so he didn't mind not having been informed that the girls would be there.

Brenda smiled, happy about her father's casual behaviour. "I don't now, girls, what do you think?"

Malia smiled at Thomas; he knew he was always a big hit with his daughter's friends - it came with being a cute young dad. "I still dream of your mac and cheese, Mister Edison."

That was a great idea - easy and quick, giving him enough time for his baking event, and he had everything at home. "Sure thing, Malia, mac and cheese for the ladies - coming right up!" They giggled some more, and Thomas grinned as he was walking towards the kitchen to get started, because he could practically see Newt roll his eyes at the giggling girls.

...

Once he had delivered four plates and a casserole of baked mac and cheese to the couch (the girls were apparently marathon-ing an anime about ice skaters or something, Thomas didn't actually understand it), he put on a playlist he had made days before. It was a mixture of Newt's mix tape and his own favourite songs that reminded him of the blond; he'd have to make him a copy of that for him some day soon.

He was humming along to that song Brenda liked, "Perfect Strangers", while getting the dough for his blueberry muffins started. He heard the muffled voices from the living room and couldn't help but smile - he always enjoyed having people in the house, especially his kids' friends, because it made their slightly too big house so full of life. He did a few cha-cha-cha steps as the song changed to "Shut up and dance", his favourite pop song from the last few years. Thomas was looking forward to rehearsing the next morning; he always loved working in the empty school, and Saturdays had a different feeling to them. His students always looked different, too, because he normally didn't see them with their eyes still sleepy and in their sweatpants (they had agreed to make the rehearsal dress code sweatpants - there had been several rehearsals in costumes already, and there was no need to wear shirts on a Saturday at 9 a.m.).

The first patch was about to go in the oven when the door opened and Brenda came in, carrying the empty plates and the casserole. "Thanks, dad," she said, putting the dishes in the sink.

"Leave them, I'll do it," he said, smiling. "I have to wait for the muffins to finish, anyway. Go have fun."

Brenda beamed at him and got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You're the coolest."

He shrugged. "I bet you say that to all the boys," he said, and his daughter looked at him wordlessly, a mixture of disgust and deep disapproval, before leaving the room.

So Thomas did the dishes and baked and then he washed the bowls and cutting boards and baked some more. In the end, he had 60 muffins ready, and he immediately put 48 of those onto plates to carry them to his room and hide them from his family; for the other 12, he got a plate and brought them to the girls.

"I thought you might like dessert," he said, and he hadn't even put down the plate yet when Miyoko had already snatched one off it. "Oh my God, they're still warm," she sighed. "Brenda, why aren't we at your place more often? Your dad is the _best_."

"You're always welcome, you know that," Thomas said to the girls, and they giggled while Brenda did the Newt-thing and rolled her eyes. "I'll be upstairs. Brenda knows where the blankets are in case any of you want to stay over."

The girls thanked him before dividing their attention between the muffins and the TV. Thomas smiled to himself and went upstairs. It was still too early to go to sleep, so he changed out of his school clothes, grabbed his laptop and a DVD and took it to the bedroom. Cuddling up in his bed, he started watching one of his favourite comic book adaptions. He was perfectly comfortable, and he asked himself why he didn't do this more often - watching TV in bed was a delightful way to have some quality time. 

Thomas didn't make it through the whole movie before his eyelids started to grow heavy, and he finally put the laptop aside and turned off the lights. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Teresa came in at some point, but he didn't really wake up.

...

He did, however, wake up to the sensation of someone kissing him. He groaned and opened his eyes - it was dark outside, so it must have still been night. He saw Teresa next to him, her eyes shining in the dark. "Hello, husband," she purred, her voice velvety in the blackness surrounding them.

Thomas was disoriented, his brain foggy with sleep. "Did something happen? Are you okay?"

Teresa nodded, kissing his cheek. "Everything's fine. I just thought maybe we could... I don't know, have a little us-time?"

He frowned. "How late is it?"

His wife cuddled closer. "Midnight. I just got in. And you know, it's Saturday tomorrow, and I thought, since you don't have to work, I could take some time off and..." She started kissing his throat.

This was so out of the blue, Thomas felt almost bad for being annoyed with her. "Honey, I have rehearsals tomorrow morning, you know that." He tried to say it as nicely as possible. "Also, there are four teenage girls in the house. I really think we should sleep." It was almost comical how strange the thought of sleeping with Teresa seemed to him now. It'd been months. 

He didn't really see her face, but from the way she stopped kissing him, he knew her face must have fallen. "Oh." He hadn't physically pushed her away, but she did move a few inches away from him. "I guess I forgot that."

"Mhm." Thomas didn't want to give his disapproval away, but he really was disappointed that she didn't remember. He had mentioned it a few times during breakfast this week. "I'm flattered, though," he said, trying to make her feel better, extending her arm towards her. "Cuddle?"

"Sure," she said, and her voice sounded less wounded than before, and then he was pulling her against his body like he had done with Newt not long ago. Teresa eased into the hug, but he could tell she was still a bit disappointed, even though she also tried to hide it. "Did you have a good day?" he asked, suppressing a yawn.

Teresa sighed, but it turned into a yawn, too. "Kind of. The floor plans are almost fixed. We only need to figure out the cafeteria, but that'll be okay, too."

Thomas nodded. "You'll do fine."

"Thanks."

They were quiet for a bit, and Thomas yawned again. "Do you mind...?"

Teresa laughed a bit. "No, not at all. I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's okay." Thomas paused. "Good night."

"Night, Tom."

They stayed like that, big spoon and little spoon, at least for the ninety seconds it took Thomas to fall asleep.

...

The next morning, Thomas quickly made a stash of waffles for the girls to eat, tiptoeing around the kitchen so he wouldn't wake them; he had a feeling the slumber party had gone on until the small hours of the morning. He had breakfast in the kitchen, reading the paper, already freshly showered and in sweatpants, and just before it was time to leave, he got some waffles and a cup of coffee and took them up to the bedroom where Teresa, unbelievably, was still in bed - she was typing on her iPad, though, so it didn't really count. Maybe he had woken her when he had showered.

"I'm off," he said when she looked up at him, "but I thought you might want some breakfast in bed."

Teresa looked so young with no makeup on, in his oversized shirt, her hair wild - and with a huge smile on his face. "Thanks, Tom," she beamed, extending her arms to take the plate and mug from him and letting him kiss her cheek. "That's so lovely." She really seemed genuinely happy. "I hope you have a good morning of rehearsals," she said, and Thomas could tell she really meant it. Again, he felt guilty.

"Take it easy," he said, walking towards the door.

"Oh hey, I'm making lunch, okay?" Teresa said quickly, and Thomas turned around to smile at her. "That would be nice."

Oh God, he really had to stop this; living within two relationships at the same time felt extremely wrong.

...

Thomas had wanted to be the first at the auditorium, and he was; he put the muffins backstage so nobody would get to steal any in between scenes. Then he prepared the music, and Rachel soon arrived, so he started explaining the sound equipment to her (which she turned out to understand better than he did). His colleague looked relaxed in sweatpants, which she would have never worn if she hadn't been forced to, but she seemed to enjoy the change of style. "I actually might do that more often," she said as she sat down on her chair on the side of the stage. "Leggings and sweatpants are just so much better than tights!"

Thomas chuckled and went back on stage to see that several people, including Newt, had arrived, carrying bowls and bottles of breakfast foods. "Good morning," the young teacher greeted them, and the answers sounded enthusiastic, albeit a bit tired. He instructed his actors to put the food backstage and then did his best to do small talk and try not to ignore Newt too much or give him too much attention, which was extremely difficult, but he thought he managed.

When everyone had arrived, Thomas gathered them for a little energizing game onstage he had learned in one of his theatre pedagogics classes, and soon his students weren't tired, but laughing and bouncing with positivity. And then they got started.

The whole rehearsal was a success. Sure, there were minor mistakes, but nobody expected those students to be perfect, or Rachel, for that matter, and what they lacked in perfection, they made up for in spirit and emotion. Thomas could really feel the emotion, carried of course by Newt's amazing performance, but Sonya did her best to be his equal, and this brought out the best in her.

During the break, they had breakfast, and while Thomas was busy getting everyone their hot beverages, the students included him in their conversations, and it was nice not to be the odd one out for once; he felt like he was among colleagues, not students, and it was so much fun that he had to consciously remind himself not to let the rehearsal go on for too long. His muffins were a big hit, too - at the end of their breakfast, none were left. Good thing he had put several aside for Newt.

The music part also worked for the most part, with a few mistakes, but the actors were professional enough to go with the flow, which made Thomas immensely proud of them. At the end of the rehearsal, he was almost lost for words for his usual pep talk.

"Guys... I don't know what to say." That was true, and it was all he needed to say to get the teenagers beaming at him. "You're doing a great job, and I'm fiercely proud of how far we've come." He looked at every single one, even Newt, who was smiling the tiny smile Thomas loved so much. "Thanks for your good work. I'll see you on Friday for our penultimate rehearsal. I thought we'd have to rehearse in between, but we don't. You're too good - sorry not sorry!" They all laughed and applauded him, and Thomas caught Rachel's eyes, who also clapped her hands.

Rachel wanted to help him put everything away, but Thomas waved her off; he explained to her that he enjoyed having the quiet auditorium to himself for a bit.

"They adore you," she said, and she grinned at him. "It's really great to see you work with them, Thomas. Very inspiring."

"Thanks," he answered, blushing with pride, before waving goodbye to her. He walked the stage, looking for any spare props that might have been lying around, when suddenly Newt emerged from behind the curtain.

"God, I thought she'd never leave," he growled as he grabbed Thomas's hoodie and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Thomas was surprised, but he immediately went with it. The heart attack he'd almost had from the shock that he hadn't been alone was immediately forgotten.

Newt bit his lip and Thomas groaned. He pressed himself closer to Newt and hugged him, kissing him with everything he had. Now it was the blond's turn to moan, and Thomas knew that they shouldn't, not on stage, not in school, not-

BANG.

The auditorium door fell shut.

Thomas let go of Newt as if he had burned himself. 

Newt looked dazed. "What was that?" But they both knew. Someone had still been in the auditorium or come back. Someone had seen them. Kiss on stage. There was no doubt about it. Nobody could have missed them.

Thomas' instincts kicked in.

"I have to go," he said, grabbing his bag. Newt was there in an instant, blocking his way. "Tommy," he simply said, but Thomas sidestepped him and approached the entrance. He couldn't, he just couldn't deal with this, he had to get out. Now.

Newt wouldn't let it go, though, and his voice was upset when he talked next: "Thomas, can we please talk about this?"

The young teacher turned to look at him. "No, we can't. I can't. I need to - I have to - I can't. Not now." He threw up his hands. "God dammit, Newt, what do you want from me?"

The blond stared at him, disbelief obvious on his face. "What do _I_ want from _you_?! I don't want anything from you, Thomas. I love you, okay, you bloody idiot, more than you probably deserve, and now you're punishing me for something that's at least as much your fault as it is mine." His eyes were practically sparkling with fury, and Thomas couldn't help but react in a similar manner.

"Oh yeah?! More than I deserve?! Well, I've got news for you, _Newton_ , I'm risking my _job_ for you, my family, _everything I have ever worked for_! So if you don't mind, I'll go home now and be anxious about me losing _everything_ because someone saw me kissing a student!"

The blond's face was cold and hard. "So that's what it is, huh? Kissing a student? That's all?" He started to move. "Get out of my way, Thomas," he said, his voice almost cruel.

Thomas sighed in exasperation. "You know that's not all, Newt, you are much more than a student to me," he said, but he knew that the harm was done. Newt was hurt, and one sentence right now wouldn't fix this.

"I'll see you on Monday in class, _Mister Edison_ ," he said, and when Thomas wouldn't move, he simply pushed past him and left the auditorium. The young teacher yelled for him to wait, but Newt didn't listen, and Thomas still couldn't move, so he stayed where he was, watching the blond boy that had been so important to him for those past few months leave without looking back.

And then, because everything was just too much, because his life suddenly seemed more than he could handle, because he was unhappy in his marriage, because he was cheating on his wife, because he had just hurt the person he loved the most, and because he would most likely lose his job and everything he had ever held dear, he sank to the floor and started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my beautiful readers,  
> I'm so sorry about the delay, I'm busily trying to graduate from college, and that's kind of a lot of work :) I hope you're not mad!!  
> Also, I hope you enjoyed this chapter - what did I say about shit getting real? ;)  
> I'd love for you to give me feedback in the comments or chat with me on tumblr, all of you are just so lovely <3  
> Thanks so much and I'll update ASAP, I promise!!  
> xxx


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas tries to make things okay with Newt again. Still, once the beans are spilled, there is no going back...

The weekend was hell. Thomas spent it in his room correcting check-ups and essays and preparing lessons, telling his family that he was awfully busy, which was, in a way, true - at least he was _keeping_ busy, trying to ignore the fact that his world was falling apart.

Not that it would have been noticeable in Thomas' own home. His wife was buried in work, as usual, but did the cooking on Saturday and Sunday and also went to buy some new clothes with Brenda; Teresa was apparently trying to mend their relationship with a bit of girl time, and their teenaged daughter was, after some hesitation, eager to comply. So nobody bothered Thomas while he was wallowing in his room, keeping busy, but sometimes breaking down, and then he needed to listen to his Newt playlist, Newt's mix tape or even, when things got really bad, watch one of the tapes they made in preparation for Newt's Juilliard audition. Thomas knew he was pathetic. He really did know. But he couldn't help it, either.

Three sleepless nights. Panic every time the phone rang or the doorbell sounded. Thomas was terrified that any minute, someone could be there to arrest him, to fire him, to tell the world that he had done the one thing a teacher mustn't do - take advantage of their students. Mr Einstein wouldn't care that it had been a very consensual relationship, Thomas knew that. He was disgracing the school. He had to go. All that he could hope for was that Mr Einstein would want to avoid scandal.

Waiting for it to happen was much worse than having a secret.

Newt hadn't talked to him when he'd called him, on Saturday afternoon, during a walk through the cold December air. Thomas's call had gone straight to voicemail, and, too startled to disconnect, he had left a rather pathetic message.

_Newt, it's me... Listen, I - I am so sorry, Newt. I didn't mean what I said, and I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I love you. You know that. I'm sorry you're hurt, and I understand that you are. Just - I want you to know that I'm sorry, okay? Really. Please, talk to me. Right, erm, okay, bye, I guess..._

_Really_ attractive. Then again, it had been a heartfelt message, so maybe Newt would find it in his heart to forgive him.

...

Even though he didn't seem like it on Monday.

Thomas felt the blond actively ignore him during class, which was a peculiar thing to witness. They had turned to different plays, having finished Shakespeare, and the lesson was built on group discussions comparing the various texts they'd read so far - Thomas had been wise enough to prepare a lesson where he could avoid the blond. He knew better than to address his lover directly in class - he wouldn't get an answer anyway. And he was right; while Newt hotly debated with Sonya and Beth, he refused to report any of their findings to the class, which earned him several bewildered glances from his colleagues before Beth agreed to do the talking for him. Thomas knew it was Newt's way of punishing him, and even though it might have been really childish, it also kind of hurt.

He didn't dare talk to him after their lesson and instead tried to catch him after school, walking by his locker when he knew the blond ought to have been there, and he was. So Thomas stood there, waiting for his student to look up, and those seconds felt like hours. Newt looked as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a few days, which was probably true. The guilt was almost unbearable, knowing that it was _his_ fault.

The hurt look in Newt's eyes broke Thomas' heart a bit when their eyes met after Newt had shut his locker door a bit too forcefully. He hadn't shown any sign of his knowing that Thomas was there, but of course he had known.

"Newt," the young teacher said, and his voice sounded miserable even to his own ears, "can I talk to you?"

Newt raised his eyebrows. "Do you have anything to say that you can't say in class?" It was a stupid question, and they both knew it. But there he was again - angry, provocative Newt. Thomas hadn't seen him in a while, and he hadn't missed him. He gulped.

"Please... Let me explain..." He began, but he didn't really know how to continue. He ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that day, possibly making him look like he'd just been electrocuted.

The blond studied him, looking serious. "I don't think this is a good idea," he said. "Someone might _see_."

Thomas felt as if he'd been slapped. He could feel tears sting his eyes once again. As if that wasn't _all_ he had been thinking about the entire weekend. Didn't Newt see that?! And didn't Newt know that still, he needed to fix things between them because he couldn't do this without him?! "Please, Newt, what can I do?"

Newt let his eyes wander over the shadows under the brunet's eyes, his slumped posture, the tears that weren't shed yet. Thomas could tell he wanted to give in, he could see _his_ Newt under the facade, but somehow, the blond couldn't let himself.

"Show me you mean it," Newt half-whispered, and his voice also sounded close to breaking. Then he left, not even bothering to lock his locker.

Thomas looked after him, contemplating Newt's last words. _Show me you mean it._ He should have known; one stupid phone call wasn't enough to make it all okay again. He'd need a gesture. Something big, preferably.

...

Thomas heard the exclamations before he saw the excited group of students the next morning. It was his turn to do morning rounds throughout the ground floor hallways, and he approached the seniors who were talking avidly, apparently staring at something.

"What's going on?" he asked Jeff, who stood closest.

His student laughed. "It seems like Newt's good a secret admirer."

Then he stepped aside, and Thomas saw.

Newt's locker was open, and it was overflowing with roses - dozens, if not hundreds (154 to be precise, not a random number, but the number of known Shakespeare sonnets. Newt would realise it if he counted them, Thomas was certain of it.).

Newt was standing in front of his locker, simply staring at the overwhelming mass of roses. They weren't exactly red, but more of a dark pink shade, and they weren't normal roses, but English roses; this kind had bigger heads with more petals. (Newt loved English roses, they reminded him of his grandmother's garden - he had mentioned it once.) For the first time ever, Thomas actually found his cocky Romeo to be perfectly speechless. His pale face was flushed with excitement and happiness, and even though the young teacher couldn't see his eyes, he imagined they were sparkling.

"Who could have done this?!" Sonya, who was standing next to him and looking less than thrilled, exclaimed, "Nobody knows your locker code, right?" (Well, that was irrelevant if one forgot to lock one's locker.)

Beth, who looked genuinely thrilled, clapped Newt on the back. "You caught quite a rich lady's eye, there, Romeo," she said approvingly, "those flowers must have cost more than a hundred bucks!"

(More than two hundred, actually. Thomas was a fan of organically grown flowers.)

Newt laughed nervously, and then he turned and met Thomas' eye.

There was no doubt that Newt knew Thomas had given him the flowers. As they looked at each other, a silent understanding passed between them. That Thomas had remembered Newt's favourite flowers, even though he'd only ever mentioned it once, in passing. That Thomas had bought 154 of them, organically grown, and put them into his locker at 6:30 that morning so as to not be seen by anyone. That Thomas was sorry. That Thomas loved Newt. That Newt loved Thomas.

Newt smiled. It was his tiny smile again, the shy one, and it might have gone unnoticed for anyone but Thomas. But Thomas knew that he was forgiven. That he had maybe not solved everything; they'd fought for the first time, and someone knew their secrets, which was terrifying, but Thomas had done the right thing, and Newt was smiling again because of him.

And that was all that counted in this very moment.

Thomas put on his teacher face. "What's going on, guys? Newt, are you planning a marketing stunt for our theatre production?" He smiled at the students, and Newt actually _grinned_ back. God, it felt so good to see him like that.

"That's actually an interesting idea," he said cockily. "But I have to disappoint you - those are my flowers."

Thomas shrugged. "Well, I guess you should keep them, then. They're really beautiful." He allowed himself another smiled.

Newt blushed. "Just like the person who gave them to me."

His classmates _oooh_ ed at that, and Thomas thought it was the ideal moment to extract himself from the situation.

...

Newt, after participating like he always did in class, approached him after their lesson.

He stood there, looking at his teacher for a few seconds, before shaking his head, smiling. "You are one crazy son of a biscuit, do you know that, Thomas Alpha Edison?"

Thomas shrugged, sorting out his papers. "I needed to show you I mean it," he said, not looking up at Newt because he might just have cried a few tears of happiness again - because _Newt was talking to him again_.

The blond caught hold of his wrist, and so Thomas had to look up. Newt's eyes were just as wet as his. "Thank you, Tommy. I mean it. I love the flowers. They are perfect."

Thomas bit his lip. "I really am sorry for what happened."

Newt chuckled. "Yes, I can see that. And smell, too. Are those things organically grown? They smell amazing! You must have spent a fortune on them!" He looked at his teacher with the loving, mild eyes expression that is normally used for babies.

Thomas didn't know what to say, so he simply said the truth: "You are worth it."

Newt squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Stop it, I'm having a cuteness overload!" he protested, and Thomas laughed, and it felt good to laugh together once more. They only hadn't been talking for two days, and it had felt like two months.

"Can we talk? After school?" Thomas asked, and Newt nodded. "I'd like that. You can come by my house. Also, I'd like to kiss you senseless. I love English roses. I can't believe you remembered that."

Thomas grinned. "Sure, we can do that, too. I'll see you later."

Newt smiled and swiftly left the room, almost knocking over a freshman on his way out.

...

Several hours later, Thomas found himself naked in Newt's room, surrounded by 154 roses. He hadn't meant to sleep with Newt, he wanted to talk before they did anything - _if_ they did anything - but of course, neither of them could keep his hands off the other man. So there they were, cuddling contently, surrounded by enough flowers to make the room feel like a shucking honeymoon suite.

"What are you going to tell your mum about the flowers?" Thomas asked as he settled his head against Newt's shoulder.

Newt shrugged slightly. "I was thinking I'd tell her those are the flowers for all the actors and teachers who helped in the production, but they were delivered too soon by accident, and the flower shop let us keep them anyway."

Thomas nodded in approval. "Sounds plausible. My smart boy." He playfully bit Newt's neck.

"Oh Tommy," Newt sighed, stroking his lover's hair as his head was nestled against his chest. "What are we going to do?"

Thomas repressed the urge to respond with a sigh. "We'll make it work," he promised, and for the first time in forever, he really felt like it. "I'm going to tell my wife after Christmas. And then... Then I'll have to quit my job, I guess. In case word gets out. When word gets out. I mean..." He paused. " _Somebody_ knows."

Newt slowly shook his head. "I'm so sorry it has to be that way for you, Tommy," he said, and he sounded truly upset. "You're a brilliant teacher."

The brilliant teacher shrugged as far as it was possible, lying on his arm. "I'll find work elsewhere. Or go back to university, do a post-grad course. Go to Juilliard with you and study playwriting." He smiled up at his lover, and Newt smiled back. They both knew he was just messing about, but it felt good.

"We'll be alright, won't we, Tommy?" the blond asked, and despite the fact that his voice sounded relaxed, Thomas saw something in his eyes that told him Newt needed confirmation.

"We will," he promised, knowing that he couldn't - and shouldn't - promise anything.

...

The rest of the week passed almost normally. Newt and Thomas were on speaking terms again, and nothing had happened that would hint at someone having told on the two of them. Sure, the young teacher was worried, and anxiety was never further away than in the back of his mind, but all in all, it could have been much worse.

On Friday, they had their last regular rehearsal. It was not going to be a rehearsal, really, but a complete run-through with all the right lighting, music, costumes - the lot. The group was more quiet than usual; Thomas could see the concentration in their eyes. Newt was the only one who looked at least partly relaxed, and he did his best to lighten the mood. A few giggles audible from behind the curtain told the young teacher that he was successful in his mission.

The light went out, the music started, and the play began. Thomas had told himself he wouldn't make any last minute notes - he didn't want to make his actors insecure about their performance. The way they did it today was the way they'd play it next week. This was it.

They were well into the second act, and Thomas loved what he was seeing, when the door to the auditorium banged open and all the lights came on at once. The action on stage haltered, the actors freezing in their positions - nobody knew what was happening, and Thomas turned around in his seat to see what was going on.

Mr Einstein was running down the steps towards them, and Thomas knew it was over.

The headmaster looked as if he was ready to murder someone. Thomas could do nothing but sit there and stare. The only thought he could muster, curiously, was that if they threw him out now, all their theatrical work would be for nought, and what a shame would that be?

The auditorium was silent but for Mr Einstein's steps and his heavy breathing. He came to a halt in front of Thomas, who was still frozen in his spot, sitting in the front row, staring up at Alby. He couldn't even ask what was the matter, pretend to not know what was going on. He didn't dare.

"Is it true?" The three words reverberated through the auditorium, and Thomas just knew all eyes were on him. He could feel them, and he felt his face flushing as well. But he couldn't say a word. This was a real-life nightmare.

"Is it true that you, a teacher, a theatre coach, are having relations with one of your actors?" Mr Einstein's voice was filled with icy fury.

There. At least it was out. Thomas was even relieved, in a twisted sort of way.

Thomas' eyes flickered over Alby's shoulder to the stage. The faces he saw were all filled with shock, surprise maybe, but the only face he was looking for was Newt's. When he found it, he only found a question in it. _What will you do, Thomas?_

He couldn't hide it anymore. He had to stand up and say the truth. He was about to lose everything, but if he told the truth now, Newt would be by his side.

Thomas took a deep breath and looked Alby in the eyes. "It's true. But the student is of age and I did not force anything."

Alby's eyes turned to little slits of anger. "I don't care if you think that makes it okay, Edison. Just... _What were you thinking?!_ What if you'd have gotten a student pregnant?? Imagine the scandal!!"

The following silence was interrupted by a melodious chuckle from the stage. Everyone turned to stare at Newt, who looked extremely amused. "Well, not that American sex education is of high quality, but I think that would be quite hard."

Everyone seemed stunned for a few seconds. Thomas couldn't believe the _guts_ Newt had to just step forward and say something like that. Then a few of the students almost smiled. They didn't seem put off by the fact that Thomas would fall in love with Newt; his acting was amazing, nobody could deny his good looks, and their teacher looked barely old enough to be their teacher, anyway. Rachel, who stood among them, merely raised her eyebrows. Thomas ironically felt a wave of gratitude wash through him that the only face looking at him in disgust belonged to his boss.

"Get out," he hissed. "You're fired. Get your things and go."

Thomas stood up, and Alby took a few steps back as if he were somehow contagious. He looked up at his actors. "I'm sorry I failed you, guys," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You were amazing."

"Wait!" Sonya cried when he was already a few steps away. "What about the play? What about everything we worked for?"

Mr Einstein looked back over his shoulder. "The play is off. I don't want any more of this theatre nonsense at this school if that's what comes of it. And just so we are clear - talking about this matter will get any of you expelled before you can say _Shakespeare_." And then he continued to lead Thomas out of the auditorium.

They were almost to the door when Thomas heard Newt cry, "Oh Captain, my Captain!" He turned to see the blond jump onto a seat in the front row, recreating the iconic scene from _Dead Poets Society_ , a movie they had watched in class a few weeks ago. Sonya was next; she jumped off the stage and onto the seat next to Newt's, likewise shouting, "Oh Captain, my Captain!" One by one, the whole theatre group did it, and neither the teacher nor the headmaster could move. If Thomas had not already had tears in his eyes, they would have come now. This was a powerful gesture, telling him that they were still all with him, despite of what he had done.

And then he was out of the auditorium. Walking the hallways for the last time. Emptying his drawers in his desk, all in the company of a silent Mr Einstein who finally took away his keys and led him out the door, ignoring all his attempts at apologies or goodbyes.

And then there he was. On a late Friday afternoon in the freezing December air in the school parking lot, without a job. And the worst thing was that he had to tell his wife that he had lost his job because he was cheating on her.

He pulled out his phone and called his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, BABES!! <3  
> Consider this my present to you guys ;)  
> I hope you liked this chapter - I know, a lot of stuff is going on now, and I'll try to update as soon as I can, I promise!  
> Let me know what you think - I love talking to you guys, you're my absolute ego booster :)  
> Loads of love <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas tells his wife and leaves his marriage behind. Sad!

It was well past 10 pm when Teresa returned from work that Friday night. Thomas had had enough time to make dinner for Chuck, play with him and tell him that Daddy would be staying with grandma and grandpa for a few days because he and Mummy had to sort some things out. Chuck had panicked a bit, but Thomas had told him that they both loved him very much and that they were never going to leave him, so he had been sort of okay with it and eventually fallen asleep.

Thomas, on the other hand, had cried afterwards while packing his bag. He was not going to leave for good now; he just needed a few shirts and books to tie him over, but damn, it was shucking hard. He also hated the fact that he couldn't say goodbye to Brenda right now - Brenda, his eldest, his daughter and his friend. But he would have to do it another time.

Newt had called him, and he had cried during that talk, too. The blond had offered to come over and help him talk to Teresa, he had invited Thomas to stay with them, but the young teacher knew that it was no good. He had to do this alone.

"I was so proud of you today," Newt told him, and Thomas could hear that he was fighting tears. "We all were. The others were so nice to me, comforting me. Nobody blames you. Apparently, some people shipped us."

Thomas laughed while the tears streamed down his face, and he had promised to be in touch once he had talked to Teresa.

Cradling a cup of tea, his bag on the floor next to him, Thomas sat on the couch, waiting for Teresa. He knew it was getting late - it was okay, though. His father would wait for him.

When Teresa walked in, looking tired but very pretty in her bright red blazer and striped blouse, she wasn't aware of him at first. Then she smiled at him and approached him - and came to a halt when she saw the bag.

Her eyes grew wide. "You're leaving me?" she asked, quietly. This wasn't what he had expected - Teresa was someone who threw tantrums.

He couldn't look her in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Teresa. I... I have to go." He could have run, avoid this confrontation, like he always did, but he owed this to Teresa. To their life together. To their family.

Teresa seemed speechless, more so than sad or angry. "You're ending our marriage because of my career?" The look on her face was so bewildered it was almost comical. Her husband quietly gave her a lot of credit for realising her job wasn't ideal, though.

Thomas took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I'm ending our marriage because I've fallen in love with someone else."

He was too much of a coward to look at her, but he couldn't keep his eyes closed anymore. Blinking them open, he saw that Teresa was still staring at him. "You did _not_ just tell me that you're seeing someone else."

Thomas hated himself for hurting her - his best friend and lover for sixteen years. It was like cutting into his own flesh. "I did. I am. I'm so, so sorry, Teresa."

There were tears in her eyes now. "I can't believe it, Tom! Who is she? One of your colleagues? How... How could you do this to me?" The tears started falling, and Teresa collapsed onto the carpet, still staring at him, sobbing. It was heart-breaking; she never cried.

Thomas knew that everything he was about to say was utterly clichéd, but that didn't make it any less true. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I guess I was lonely, frustrated-"

"Oh, and that's of course my fault, isn't it?!" The brunet was almost relieved at this flare of anger, at her raised voice. Now _that_ was his wife.

Thomas took another deep breath. "No, of course not. I'm just trying to explain how I felt."

Teresa interrupted again. "And did you think about _my_ feelings when you fucked some silly French assistant behind my back?" Anger had taken over her face now.

Thomas was almost tempted to point out that it was Minho who was having an affair with the French assistant, but it was hardly the right time. "No, I didn't. I didn't think much at all, obviously, but what's done is done, Teresa, and I can't stop the way I feel about him!" Those last words had come out louder than he had wanted, but he couldn't help it.

His wife just stared. "You used the wrong pronoun just now."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me stuff about shucking pronouns, Teresa, I studied that crap in college."

Even though he had meant for it to sound rough, she just continued to stare at him. "You're... _Gay_?!"

_Not this again._

"No, I'm not gay, I wouldn't have married you if I was gay, would I?" He put his mug down on the glass table in front of the couch lest he spilled something due to wild gesturing.

Teresa shook her head. "I don't really know anything anymore, Thomas." She wiped away her tears.

Her husband sighed. "I know it's tough. And I'm very sorry. But I can't live like this anymore. I need to be with him."

His wife was still busy rescuing her makeup. "Are you going to him now?" He'd expected she'd throw plates at him or him out of the house. But her apathy was almost harder to deal with.

It was his sign to leave, and he knew it. Getting up slowly while grabbing his bag, he shook his head. "My parents'."

"So you'll be back by Monday." She didn't sound thrilled at the prospect, and the feeling was mutual. Thomas knew that this wasn't his home anymore.

"I won't. I got fired. Teachers aren't supposed to fall in love with students, apparently." He'd meant it to be funny, but of course it wasn't.

Teresa didn't even look surprised anymore. "Dating a student. You're one broken shank, Thomas Alpha Edison." She walked past him, towards the kitchen. 

Her husband stood there for a few seconds, contemplating that. Was he broken? Despite the fact that he had just told his wife that he was going to leave her, he felt okay. "I don't feel broken," he said lowly, almost whispering the words, and he was pretty sure she couldn't hear them. "I feel... More complete than I have in a long time."

...

The tears came in the car. Their time together had been a good one, and it had lasted for almost half his life. Thomas had every right to mourn it, even though he was the one burning the bridge.

It wasn't a long ride to his parents' - usually it took him 45 minutes, maybe 35 now that it was almost eleven and the streets were quiet. Still, driving away from his home, leaving it and thus uprooting himself, was almost an impossible thing to do.

He called Newt.

Newt picked up within seconds. "Talk to me, Tommy."

Thomas took a deep breath. "It was... Okay, I guess?" His voice still sounded like tears, and Newt heard it, too.

"Oh, my brave, brave baby," he whispered. "It must have been so hard for you." And then he patiently listened, cooing into the phone, while Thomas cried.

When he could finally breathe normally again, Newt spoke. "Do you need me to get you? You can't drive like that, Tommy. I'll pick you up. You can spend the night here and go to your parents tomorrow. How does that sound?"

Thomas shook his head, but that didn't work over the phone, of course. "What about your mum?"

"I told her."

The brunet's eyes widened involuntarily. "You did WHAT?!"

Newt chuckled. "I told her. She was not as shocked as you might think. She's used to having a gay son, and one who gets kicked out of school. Me falling in love with the teacher who looks like he's still in college? That's only the next logical step."

Thomas laughed, too. "Sounds like it, if you say it like that. I'm okay, though, really. I can drive. But maybe if I put you on speaker, you could stay with me?"

Newt clearly didn't approve, but he didn't say. "Sure. Just drive carefully. And I will tell you silly stories about my childhood."

The smile wouldn't disappear from Thomas' tear-stained face. "You've got yourself a deal there." And he put Newt on speakerphone before turning the key in the ignition.

...

It was almost midnight when Thomas arrived at his ancestral home. All the lights were still on, though, so without looking at the clock, one might have guessed it was still much earlier. Thomas parked his car in the driveway and walked up to the entrance, but before he could ring the bell, the door opened and there was his father, smiling at him. "Son," he said, stretching out his arms and pulling him into a bear hug. Thomas had not really explained what had happened when he had called before; he had only said he needed them, and his parents had immediately told him to come. Whether he had been six and hurt himself playing football, fifteen and had his heart broken, or 34 and his marriage was over - he would always be welcome in this small house. Thomas felt tears wet his eyes again as his father held him.

After a few seconds, his father released him and gently pulled him into the house. "Come. Do you want anything? There's some chicken soup left from dinner, and I can also make you something. Or would you like a cup of hot chocolate?" He smiled at his son. "I used to make you some when you were a child."

Thomas smiled back at his dad; the way he looked at him spoke of so much love, it almost took the young man's breath away. "Hot chocolate sounds perfect. But you don't have to do it, I can." He kicked off his shoes and hung up his jacket, then followed his father into the kitchen.

Edison Senior shook his head. "I'd like to do it." It was funny how parents always stayed parents, no matter how old their children were.

Thomas nodded. "Thank you. Where's mum?" He sat down at the breakfast bar, watching his dad prepare his drink.

"Mum's away for two days. Teacher's seminar." He smiled. "She's always so excited about these things. She's sad she'll miss you, though." His gaze fell to Thomas' bag. "Or maybe she won't. You just stay as long as you need to." Mr Edison handed Thomas his drink, and his son thanked him.

His dad sat down next to him, cradling his own mug, and for a moment, they were comfortably silent except for Thomas' quiet slurping and the ticking noise originating from the old kitchen clock. Then, Mr Edison said, "I'm sorry about Teresa."

Thomas didn't look at him, so they both continued to stare at their mugs. "How do you know?"

The elder man sighed; he wasn't old yet, Thomas realised - his father had also been quite young when his only child had been born, and they had quite good genes. "I was there at Thanksgiving, love. I know you're unhappy in your relationship."

Thomas sighed. "I feel like such a failure." It felt good to finally admit it.

His father put a hand on his. "You're not a failure, Thomas. You're a great teacher and an amazing father." He took a sip of his hot chocolate. "Listen, son. You fell in love with that girl when you were a college freshman. God, when you told me Teresa was pregnant, I thought you'd both quit school, but you didn't - you both made it work, and you made it work until now. That's an incredible achievement, Thomas, not a failure. You gave Brenda an amazing childhood, and you love little Chuck. But you and Teresa, you changed. Or maybe you didn't change so much, but she did. And that's okay - people change, and sometimes we need different things and different people at different stages in our life."

The young teacher took another sip. "I just feel like you guys are so perfect, and I always wanted a family like that. Look at me now. My marriage is in shambles, dad, and I'm even an adulterer." He was ashamed of it, of confessing it to his father.

Mr Edison considered that for a moment. "Well, I guess that new woman is what you need, is she?"

_Here goes nothing._ "He is."

If his father was surprised, he didn't show. "I always thought that maybe you'd break up at some point. Not because of you, necessarily, but because your chemistry always was a bit... Explosive." He smiled, and so did Thomas. Indeed, they'd had huge fights in the past, even in front of their parents. But despite everything, using the past tense, even in thought, still hurt. 

"I hope the two of you will be happy. And also you and your new partner. I'm sure he's great. I'd like to meet him soon." 

"Actually..." Thomas needed to get it out of his system. "He is my student. I mean, he's of age, but... you know. That's why I lost my job."

His father just smiled. "Well, son, what can I say - life is peculiar sometimes. But I'm sure it'll be alright."

He put an arm around his son and squeezed him. "Maybe you should just sleep. We can always talk more tomorrow, I've got the weekend off." Thomas nodded and finished his drink. His father continued, "I put sheets onto your bed. Shall I wake you for breakfast?" Thomas nodded again, and he would have felt stupid for it, but he didn't have to. This was his father - the one person who always stuck with him. The one person who never judged him. He was so thankful, but he couldn't eloquently express it at that very moment, so he just said, "Thanks, dad."

"No problem." Mr Edison pulled him into another hug. "I love you, son. You'll be okay. You always are. You're a great person."

Thomas felt tears wet his cheeks once more. "Thanks, dad," he repeated in a hoarse whisper.

They walked upstairs to Thomas' old bedroom. It hadn't really changed since he'd left home about seventeen years ago; Star Wars posters, a collection of old paperbacks he'd never taken to his family's home, a comfortable bed with a comforter made by his mum. It smelled a bit dusty, but the air was fresh, as if his dad had diligently aired the room before his arrival, and it was comfortably warm. The sheets were crisp and inviting.

Thomas turned round to face his father. "This is lovely, thank you."

His father smiled again. "If you need me, just let me know. I can also stay with you if you want me to."

That offer was unexpected, but tempting. "You don't have to do that, dad."

The tone of his voice told his father that he'd actually like that. "I don't mind. This is a really good bed, and I know I wouldn't want to be alone in my childhood bed after the day you had. Do you want me to stay?"

Thomas waited for a few seconds before nodding. He was being pathetic, he knew, even though his father didn't seem to think so.

"Sure. I'll just go downstairs to brush my teeth. You can use the upstairs bathroom. I'll be right there." Thomas couldn't believe his luck; his dad really _was_ the best - he could still learn plenty from him as far as fatherhood was concerned.

He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste from his bag and went into the smaller upstairs bathroom to brush his teeth. While scrubbing away, he checked his phone and saw that Newt had texted him a heart and had asked whether he was okay. He typed a short reply ( _Dad made me hot chocolate - I'm doing okay :)_ ), then rinsed his mouth and washed his face. Of course there were fluffy towels waiting for him. His dad had thought of everything. It was almost like they'd expected him for a normal weekend visit, not the acute catastrophe of his destroyed marriage.

Back in his room, he changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt before crawling under the covers. Thomas half expected his father to not come back, and he had almost fallen asleep despite the brightness of his lamp when Edison Senior came in, looking at least five years younger in an Avengers t-shirt Brenda had given him last Christmas. He was carrying an old copy of The Hobbit, which had been Thomas' favourite book as a child. "I thought I could read you something," he said, his smile almost shy, "so you'll have only nice dreams about Middle Earth."

Thomas again had to fight back tears. His dad was trying so hard to make him feel better, it was almost kitschy. "I'd love that," he said. "I'll just text Newt goodnight first if that's okay."

"Sure." His father sat down on the bed, crawling under the covers. "Newt, is that your boyfriend?"

"He is," Thomas confirmed as he swiftly typed a message to the blond.

Mr Edison was silent for a moment, then he asked, "What's he like?"

Thomas paused, putting down his phone. What _was_ Newt like?

"He can seem a bit distant when you first meet him, but he has a big heart. He is always giving his best and trying to help others be their best self without pushing them. He is incredibly funny and makes people laugh when they're nervous. He's very caring and kind, and he loves making things for people who are important to him. He's incredibly handsome and the best amateur actor I've seen in my life. He's also very inquisitive and likes to challenge ideas. He's..." Thomas stopped again. "I guess he's just a really great person."

His father nodded. "He sounds like it. I'm so glad. You really do deserve happiness, son." Then he laid back and grabbed the book. "Are you ready to learn about hobbits, son?" he said, grinning.

Thomas laughed; it all reminded him so much of his childhood. "What's a hobbit, daddy?" he said, in a mock-child's voice.

"Well, I'm glad you asked, I've got a whole book about them." And as his father started reading, Thomas gathered the duvet around himself and made himself comfortable. Even though he had had a terrible day, he felt hopeful, content and sleepy. His father's voice and the well-known bed did the rest, and even though his life was far from perfect, it only took a few minutes for Thomas to drift off into a comfortable slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely readers,  
> thank you for coming back to this train wreck of a fanfic every time and sticking with me <3  
> I hope you liked what I did in this chapter :) Your comments give me life, and I love reading your tumblr messages (I'm nerdylovelyme in case you wanna stop by), so thank you all for your input, it's highly appreciated <3  
> Loads of love and ttys xoxo


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas discovers the truth about losing his job, and the whole thing ends in a huge surprise...

Thomas woke up, and for a moment, he didn't know why he had been sleeping in his childhood bedroom. Then it all came back to him. Losing his job. Telling Teresa about his affair. Coming here.

It's not a nice thing to wake up in the morning, the first conscious thought in your head being, _I am such a failure._

Also, he was alone; his father must have got up some time ago, when he had still been asleep.

Thomas, in a gesture of childish behaviour, put his pillow over his head, refusing to acknowledge that it was already light outside, simply because he _could_. He didn't have a plan for how to continue with his life, and, in his opinion, he didn't need one right now. Right now, he could devote half an hour to self-pity.

After a few minutes, however, he was disturbed by a knock on the door. "Grmphf!" he exclaimed through the pillow before removing it from his face in time to see his father enter with a cup of coffee.

"Good morning," he said, looking well rested and comfortable in his pyjamas, carrying the mug over to Thomas' nightstand. "I thought you'd be awake by now."

"You know me too well," the young teacher mumbled, accepting the cup and taking a long sip. That was so much better. "Thanks."

"No problem." His dad smiled, seeing through Thomas' grumpy act. "I made chocolate chip pancakes."

"You did?!" Thomas exclaimed, suddenly excited. He loved making pancakes for his kids; however, he loved it even more when someone made pancakes for him.

"They're on the table." His father grinned. "I guess I'll see you downstairs in a moment?"

Thomas nodded while taking another sip of coffee, and his father left the room. The brunet threw on a hoodie and, nursing his cup of coffee, picked up his phone to see how Newt was doing.

_I'm so glad you're doing okay. I miss you. See you some time next week?_ Newt must have sent this message last night as an answer to his last text.

Thomas smiled at the display the way weird people in love like to do. Then he typed a quick answer.

_Sure thing. I love you <3_

Taking his cup with him, Thomas went downstairs and found a stack of pancakes on a plate in front of the exact same chair he always used to sit in as a child. Smiling gratefully at his dad, who was already eating and reading the newspaper, he dug in.

...

Saturday passed in comfortable laziness. Thomas' dad didn't suggest for him to start looking into the issue of a new job, for which his son was immensely thankful. He also didn't talk about the fact that he'd cheated on his wife or positively destroyed his marriage. Instead, Thomas' dad treated him the way you'd care for a sick child - he made him food and watched the entire original Star Wars trilogy with him. The level of thankfulness he felt for his dad had reached new heights.

In the evening, Mrs Edison returned from her seminar; they were in the kitchen, preparing dinner, when Thomas' mum stormed into the kitchen like a tornado and fiercely hugged her son.

"Whoa, mum, I'm holding a knife!" Thomas protested, but he was happy to have her greet him thus. Putting down his knife, he turned around to hug her back. The way she protectively wrapped her arms around him despite the fact that she was numerous inches smaller than him told him that she already knew what had happened.

She didn't say so, though. She simply said, "It's good to be back with my two men. What's for dinner?"

"Chicken curry, my dear," her husband answered, smiling and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "How was your seminar?"

Mrs Edison hopped onto one of the bar stools and sighed. "Good. A lot of input. Interesting. Too many stupid colleagues," she answered in a confused manner and smiled. "I'm really glad I didn't miss you, Thomas."

Her son smiled back at her. "Well, I wish the circumstances were different, but I'm very happy to be here," he answered diplomatically, and his mother's smile turned softer. "It'll be okay, sweetie."

When his mother said things like that, it was hard not to believe her.

Thomas told them the whole story after dinner; they were sitting together on the couch, a bowl of chips between them which nobody touched, and he poured his heart out, talking about how he had fallen in love with Newt, and the estrangement he had experienced from his wife, all up to the previous day when he had lost his job.

His mother was quiet for a few moments afterwards while his father handed Thomas tissues; he'd started crying somewhere during his monologue.

Then Mrs Edison said, "You can always get a new job, baby. And you've got someone who loves you. It could be so much worse." Neither of them had mentioned the fact that he was an adulterer. Neither of them talked about how it was his fault just as much as Teresa's, or probably more. He needed to know why.

Thomas took in a deep breath that sounded more like a sob. "But aren't you judging me?" he asked, looking at his mother, tears still clinging to his eyelashes. "You've had the best marriage for decades, and your son cheated on his wife!"

His mother simply looked at him and smiled. "Oh sweetie," she said, "nobody's perfect. You fell in love. Sure, it's not right what you did to Teresa. But who are we to judge?"

His father nodded. "I could always rely on your mother. I still can - I've never felt lonely in the time I've known her, even if she wasn't there. The fact that you were lonely when Teresa lay next to you in bed speaks volumes, Thomas. I don't think it's right to cheat on somebody, so yes, you messed up. And of course it's terrible for a good marriage to end like that. But it was a good marriage - it gave you joy for many years. And maybe now both of you need to make a new start. A new life."

Thomas contemplated that. It sounded very sensible when his father put it like that. "I never wanted to harm the kids," he said, because just accepting the forgiveness his father was offering seemed too easy.

His mother shrugged. "I've seen many kids raised by divorced couples who were more loved and better looked after than those growing up in bad marriages. Don't worry about that, Thomas, just make sure you'll be the best father you could possibly be, like you've done so far."

The young teacher nodded. "Would it be okay if I stayed here until I've got my own place? I guess Teresa will want to keep the house and the children both..." Tears shimmered in his eyes yet again. "I'll miss them so much."

His mother put an arm around him. "You can stay as long as you want to. Don't worry. It'll all be okay." Mr Edison senior joined in the hug, and they stayed like that for a few seconds. Thomas felt safe and loved despite all that had passed during the last forty-eight hours, and that in itself was a miracle.

"Thanks you guys," he mumbled into his mum's shoulder.

His father let go. "Okay, and now let's cut the sadness and do something fun. How about a game night?"

Both Thomas and his mother agreed, and soon they were engaged in a heated game of _Settlers of Catan_ , and the before-ignored bowl of chips finally met its destiny.

...

Thomas was busy looking into the matter of jobs on Sunday afternoon, his laptop balanced on his knees. There were several vacant positions for teachers despite the fact that it was the middle of the school year, and anyone would understand that he'd had to move because of _family problems_. He was sure Alby wouldn't tell a soul about his relationship with Newt, so that wouldn't ruin his career. He kind of felt like calling Minho about it, but he was also too afraid to do it. Typical Thomas. 

The young teacher wrote down several phone numbers to call the following day and inquire after jobs. It felt good to be doing something; it made him more optimistic about life and his future. He had messaged Newt about it, who also approved of his taking care of matters, even though he was sad they might not see each other that often. The blond had also hinted at maybe moving in together in autumn when he'd go to college. It was a tiny hope Thomas didn't want to fully consider because he was afraid it wouldn't happen - but a hope nonetheless.

He was just about to close the laptop when the doorbell rang. His mother, who was next to him on the sofa, devouring a book, got up to open the door; noises from the kitchen suggested that her baking husband wouldn't have heard it.

Thomas put the laptop away and grabbed his own book when his mother came back. "Look who's here!" she exclaimed, and her son did a double take.

It was Brenda.

"Bren!" he exclaimed, jumping up and immediately running over to hug her small body against his chest. "Bren, baby, what are you doing here? Did you take the bus? Did mummy drive you?"

"Dad," she said, her voice weak, "I need to talk to you."

He let go of her. "Sure, honey. I'm so sorry I didn't say goodbye. I'm so sorry." He looked over to his mother, who discreetly left the room and closed the door behind herself.

Thomas sat down on the sofa once again. "I'm so sorry, Bren. I should have explained. It's my fault. Your mum and I, we -", he hesitated, "we kind of don't work out any more. I'm so sorry." He didn't know how to tell her about Newt.

Brenda wouldn't meet his gaze as she sat down next to him. "I know, dad. That's not what I'm here for. I kind of saw it coming to be honest." The way she shrugged surprised Thomas, but then again Brenda had always been exceptionally perceptive.

"You did?" Thomas blinked a few times. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "So I guess I need to tell you about my job-"

"Dad," Brenda interrupted him, her voice a curious mixture of hurt and guilt. "You don't have to tell me anything. In fact, I know it all better than you do. I told on you and Newton."

_I told on you and Newton._

Thomas heard the words, but he didn't comprehend them. "I don't understand," he said, looking at his daughter, who still wouldn't look at him. "What do you mean, you..."

Brenda took a deep breath and looked up at him. Her eyes burned with hurt. "I saw you. I wrote a note for Mr Einstein. It's my fault you lost your job."

The meaning of her words began to sink in as he held her gaze. "You... You told Mr Einstein," he echoed. "You were the one."

"Yes." Guilt overtook her features and she looked away again.

Thomas looked at his knees, than back at his daughter. "Why did you do it?" He didn't feel like shouting at her, even though maybe he could have or even should have. His brain was all fog and confusion.

Brenda stared at him, and her eyes were hard. "You knew I liked him. You knew I liked him and you kissed him anyway." She sneered. "And by the looks of it, it wasn't the first time, either." The girl jumped to her feet. "How could you, dad?! How could you cheat on mum with the boy I had a crush on? That's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard!" She was properly shouting at him now, and all he could do was listen, because shuck, she was right.

"So yes, I told on you! I wanted to hurt you! How could you do this to me?! We were a team, dad! It was always you and me - you were my friend, too! We were always so close! Is that how you treat your friends?!" She was crying, and so was he, sobbing hard. 

"I'm so sorry, Brenda," he managed. He got to his feet, but didn't dare touch her. "I have no words to make it okay, but I'm really sorry."

Brenda shook her head. "I'm so angry, dad, but I'm also sorry. I can't believe you lost your job. I knew you'd get into trouble, and maybe in some way I _wanted_ you to lose your job, but I can't imagine school without you. I'm... I don't know, dad. I'm really hurt, but you're the only one I can always talk to when I'm sad. I can't hate you. I've tried for days. It's too exhausting, and I really need you to hug me."

Thomas spread his arms, and Brenda walked into them, and they both cried as they held each other, lost in an emotional turmoil of love and hurt.

...

"It was _Brenda_?!" Newt's voice sounded incredulous. "Are you bloody joking?!"

"God I wish I were," Thomas answered, crossing his legs underneath himself, sitting on his bed. It felt just like being a teenager again to hang out in his bedroom, talking on the phone with his crush. Only now it was slightly more pathetic.

Newt sounded so angry, and Thomas was secretly glad that he reacted so emotionally. "How could she do this to you? You're her father, and you're the best father anyone's ever had!" His words were touching, and the young teacher felt like crying again. He'd been crying so much lately, it mustn't become a habit.

He shrugged, even though the blond obviously couldn't see. "What can I say - I really hurt her, Newt. I hurt her so much. She was in love with you, and I didn't just ruin her family, I also took her crush away from her. I'd be pretty mad, too, if you were dating my dad, if I'm honest."

Newt downright snorted at this. "That's not the same and you know it. You and I are in a serious relationship. Brenda's just having a teenage crush." Thomas couldn't shake the thought that his boyfriend was only eighteen, which technically counted as a teenage crush, too, but he didn't say it. He knew Newt was serious about him.

"You're right. I'm just... Let's not be too hard on her. She was hurt. She messed up. So did I, big time." He sighed. "I'm so lost, Newt. I really don't know what to do. It's like everything I've worked for is lying in shambles." He shrugged again. "But it'll be okay. I will call those schools tomorrow... And talk to Teresa, I guess. I really want to see the kids on Christmas, and if I know anything about her, she'll be glad for a bit of relaxation."

Newt's smile was evident in his voice. "That's the spirit, Tommy. It'll all be good, and come summer, we can make further plans for our future." Thomas smiled, too. It was so good to have someone like Newt by his side.

"You really are my rock, babe. I love you," he said, and it felt good to finally be able to say it without feeling the guilt of an adulterer.

"I love you too, Tommy. Listen, I've got to go, my mum wants me to do something for her involving carrying decorations, but call me tomorrow, okay?"

Thomas nodded, reinforced his approval verbally, and hung up the phone. With Brenda gone (her grandpa was driving her home), there was little to do with the dark Sunday afternoon, so he resolved to go downstairs and have the slice of cake he hadn't been able to finish earlier because of all the tears he'd had to shed.

...

Thomas called schools the following day, and the first one he tried offered him to come over right away. The headmistress seemed overjoyed to see him and offered him to start right after Christmas as several of her own teachers were pregnant and would not be able to teach. While walking through the school, Thomas felt the familiar joy of working with children, even though he had technically only been without a job over the weekend. It still felt amazing to know he had a source of income to return to after Christmas. On the other hand, not working was not an option; as much as he would love to, he couldn't wallow in his parents' house forever, he needed to earn money. He was a father and responsible for his children's wellbeing. He had let them down before, he wouldn't do it again.

Thomas tried to hold on to this emotion of hope he'd experienced on Monday throughout the week. He worked out, cooked for his parents, spent time with them he hadn't had during the last years, read books that had been on his TBR pile forever. He missed Newt, but he knew that he was busy with school, and the two men agreed to meet up on Saturday.

Then, finally, he returned one of Minho's countless calls. Apparently, Mr Einstein had told the colleagues that there was a "private matter" keeping Thomas away, and Minho had been dying to hear more. Thomas promised to visit him when he was back in town and tell him everything.

Even though Thomas tried his best to stay optimistic, he couldn't help but feel sad about the fact that they wouldn't get to stage their play. All those hours the group had spent learning lines and rehearsing would not get to be rewarded by an audience's applause. On Friday afternoon, he got himself some ice cream and a fluffy blanket and got into bed with his laptop to watch an adaption of Romeo & Juliet so he would at least in a way experience the joy of a great Shakespeare play being performed.

Romeo had just kissed his Juliet for the first time when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he said, without stopping the movie.

" _Sin from my lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged..._ ," the voice said, and Thomas practically jumped off the bed.

Because standing there, quoting Romeo's line, was Newt.

"Newt!" Thomas exclaimed, crossing the space between them and hugging him fiercely. "What are you doing here?"

There were snowflakes in his hair, and his cheeks were flushed; Newt had never looked so lovely. "Coming to get you, of course!"

Thomas frowned. "What, why would you... What?" He was utterly confused.

Newt laughed his beautiful, melodious laugh. "I'm here to get you. To hell with what Einstein said! We're performing our play - in two hours!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!! I'm so sorry for the delay!! I apologise if I disappointed you... Is the fact that I wrote 90 pages of academic stuff and have to read 40 books enough to calm you? :D  
> So, yeah... Newtmas... What did you guys think of Brenda? And are you excited for the play? I know I am :D  
> I love you guys so much and I adore your comments <3  
> I'll be back ASAP!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE PLAY. 'nuff said.

Apparently, everyone had known about the play being staged except for Thomas - even his parents; because when he hurried down the stairs after Newt, barely avoiding a broken neck as he struggled to put on jeans and keep up at the same time, his mum was there to hand him his jacket and scarf. “We’ll see you there,” she said, smiling at Thomas. “Nice meeting you, Newt,” she then said to the blond, smiling even wider.

“I will see you very soon,” Newt answered, grinning happily. “I hope you enjoy the show!” Then he pulled the front door open and hurried outside while Thomas again struggled with items of clothing, this time his shoes.

“What was that all about?” the young teacher breathed as he tumbled into the passenger seat of Newt’s car, which was, of course, a mini. How stereotypical.

Newt grinned at him between putting on his seatbelt and shifting into first gear (of course he drove a stick, crazy European that he was). “Let’s just say your mum and I corresponded about today’s performance. I needed your address, after all.” He swiftly reversed out of the driveway and sped along the street. “She seems delightful, by the way. I’d love to meet her properly, soon.” Another sideways smile before he turned his eyes back to the snowy road.

Thomas was still confused, and he needed answers. “Can you please tell me what exactly is happening, Newt? You’re not breaking any school rules to do this, are you?” That was his biggest fear – his own gig at Glade High school was over, but the last thing he wanted was for Newt to fail his final year of school. After all, his boyfriend had ambitious college plans.

Newt laughed – he seemed to be in a terribly good mood. “Don’t worry about that, Thomas,” he said, and Thomas wasn’t even a bit less worried due to the glint in his eyes, ”Mr. Einstein won’t know until it’s too late. Professor Blunt is taking care of it; he won’t appear at school tonight. I don’t know what exactly she did, but it appears to have something to do with Alby’s secret love for jazz.” He shrugged while Thomas’ face took on an even more intense expression of bewilderment. “So anyway, we invited the local newspaper to cover our performance, and it will be so great, Alby won’t be able to complain about the positive news coverage the school will receive.” Another brilliant grin flashed across his face. “We rehearsed the whole thing last night with the Coach, and it was really good. Don’t worry. We won’t disappoint you.”

Of all the bizarre things Newt had just said, one thing stuck out particularly. “ _Minho_ helped you rehearse?” Thomas exclaimed, half shocked, half delighted.

Newt nodded, and his good-humoured expression made him even more handsome. The flushed cheeks also worked in his favour. “He let us into the gym, and we practiced there. He was immediately on board when I asked him.” The blond glanced over. “He really cares about you, Thomas.”

Thomas could only nod. His best friend had risked his job so that his own theatre group could finish their term project. He was afraid his voice would fail him.

The blond’s hand found his thigh and squeezed it. “We all just really wanted to put on the play we worked so hard for.”

The young teacher nodded again. “You deserve it,” he said, relieved that his voice sounded okay. Not that he would have minded crying in front of Newt – but he didn’t want his face to look blotchy when he arrived at his old school.

Newt shook his head. “No, you do, Thomas. You did excellent work. You should have the opportunity to witness said work and enjoy it. And I do mean enjoy – no fussing around backstage! Minho, Rachel and I have it all under control.”

Thomas smiled at his boyfriend. Whatever he had done in a previous life, he absolutely did not deserve to be loved and supported by a person as wonderful as Newt. He had felt like such a failure lately – ruining his marriage, alienating his daughter, losing his job. This, today, however, was a lovely surprise and maybe just what he needed.

“Did you tell any of the students that this is going to happen, or just your families, or what’s happening, exactly?” Thomas asked, genuinely excited now, and less worried about any potential problems.

Newt grinned. “I think you’re going to be surprised,” he said, and, with a glance at the clock, brought his foot down hard on the accelerator.

…

When Newt had said the words, “I posted it on the school’s various social media accounts,” Thomas had assumed a few students would maybe come and watch. When they arrived half an hour prior to the scheduled beginning, a bit later than planned due to snowy roads, the auditorium was already packed with people – students, parents, and teachers. For a moment, he was worried that people had only showed up in order to find out about why Thomas had left the school so abruptly, but then he realised that he didn’t care. On the contrary, he was excited for his group to be able to perform in front of a full auditorium – they absolutely deserved it. 

Newt was silent next to him. “I must admit, that even beats my expectations.”

Thomas looked over at him. “Are you nervous?”

Newt looked at him wordlessly, but his eyes perfectly spelled out the words, “Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy.” Thomas chuckled.

To avoid people’s stares, they turned and entered through one of the side doors that led backstage – Thomas insisted on wishing all of them good luck for their performance, and Newt found he could allow that.

Backstage, there was a lot of nervous laughter and fussing over costumes and makeup going on. They found Beth braiding Sonya’s hair in front of a mirror (“We thought it would go nicely with the jumpsuit, you know, Mr Edison, to emphasise how young she is, and I’ll let it down later, for the wedding!”) and some of the boys practicing their sword fights. Immediately, they flocked around him.

“You came, Mr Edison, that’s so cool-“

“What Alby did was totally unfair-“

“We all support you, Mr E!”

Tears welled in his eyes as he felt his students pat his back. He noticed Newt giving him a thumbs-up before sneaking out, possibly to put on his blue shirt.

He looked at the young people surrounding him – his students, these young adults, who were risking their academic career to stand up for their passions and beliefs. He was incredibly moved by the sympathetic looks in their eyes – the fire burning in Sonya’s eyes, the expression of determination in Jeff’s features – and he knew he needed to say something, be the person worthy of the tribute they were paying him. Or at least, he would try. They were quiet, clearly waiting for him to speak, so he cleared his throat and just started talking about the first thing that came to his mind.

“I want to thank you for what you are doing here tonight. I can imagine how much work it was for you to still make the play happen, and I am truly sorry for not being here to support you. I know I let a lot of people down, and words are not enough to make it okay again. But I hope you know that I am extremely proud of you for doing this, for going out there and staging this play because it’s your passion. The truth is, our passions might not always be right in the eyes of others, but life is too damn short not to follow them. Romeo and Juliet knew that, and God knows I know it now, too. I am very sad that I can’t teach you guys anymore, because you were the best group I ever had. But I’ve also won something in the process-“ He smiled at Newt, who at that moment reappeared in his beautiful shirt. “So I guess what I’m saying is, guys, do what you love – go out there and rock the stage. I know you can do it. And I’m fiercely proud to have been the teacher of every single one of you. Break a leg!”

The group erupted into applause and cheers. When Newt stepped through the crowd to hug him, the cheering got louder. Thomas was slightly embarrassed, but he returned the hug nonetheless. It would have been wrong not to show the others that he stood with his decision, not after a statement like the one he had just made. Over Newt’s shoulder, he said, grinning, “God, I’m glad we’ve got that out of the way, I wouldn’t have liked this to happen onstage!” The actors and actresses still laughed at that when Minho stormed into the room, shouting “Fifteen minutes, everybody, fifteen minutes – Edison, what the shuck are you doing backstage, get your butt to the front row where it sure as heck belongs!”

Thomas took his arm off Newt’s shoulder to attack-hug the coach, and a few students clapped again. “Thank you for being entirely made of awesome,” the young drama teacher said, squeezing his beefcake of a friend.

Minho’s voice was a bit off-sounding while he patted his back. “Took you long enough to realise that. And now, get _out of here_!”

Thomas had to fight his friend to be able to give Newt a good-luck-peck. “You’ll do fine,” he whispered, cupping Newt’s cheeks, smiling encouragingly.

Newt’s forehead creased with confusion. “I’m going to be extraordinary,” he said, and at that moment, he was once again the terribly arrogant yet inescapably charming young man Thomas had fallen in love with all those weeks ago. He could do nothing but say, “Yes you are” before Minho shooed him out of the room and back towards the auditorium.

There really was a seat saved for him in the front row, and to his delight he saw that it was between his parents and Brenda. His daughter smiled at him, maybe not as warmly as he was used to, but she was smiling nonetheless, which seemed like a good sign. “Are you excited, dad?” she asked as he sat down next to her – no hugs in school, obviously.

“Very,” he said as he looked up at the stage where the crimson curtain still hid the – to him – well-known props from sight. He was more than excited – he was shaking with anticipation, and he wanted to be backstage and help, but he was simultaneously extremely glad to be right where he was.

The remaining few minutes passed with Brenda explaining to her grandparents who of the present teachers “sucked real bad” and who didn’t, quite indiscreetly pointing at the respective individuals; that wasn’t really a problem, though, because it made Thomas’ former colleagues at least try to stare at him less obviously.

Zooming out of the talk, he listened to the pop music that was playing in the background. It was the Killers version of _Romeo & Juliet_, one of his all-time favourite songs. Once again, he had to mentally congratulate his group on their extremely creative ideas – the playlist worked well. It was only background music, but it set the mood just right.

Finally, a bell sounded, announcing that the play was about to begin, and the excited chatters died down to hushed whispers as the light dimmed, and finally, the curtain rose.

There was no music to welcome the audience into the play, only Zart, dressed completely in black. The auditorium was completely silent as he began reciting the famous first lines of the greatest love story of all time: “Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene…”

Thomas was immediately captivated by the melodious voice transporting him to a city in Northern Italy. There was no time for applause after he finished as he was practically shooed off the stage by the quarrelling servants, which had been Zart’s own idea – it worked well.

As the quasi-director of the play, Thomas was excited to see the sword fighting being on point – the students seemed to have put a lot of effort into rehearsing it as he couldn’t remember it to have worked that well only a short week ago. Knowing that they must have spent hours working on the play without him once again made him fiercely proud.

He was almost too engrossed to notice Newt come onstage, hanging around in the background while the other characters talked about his lovesick behaviour. Even when he wasn’t in the centre of attention, it was hard to take one’s eyes off this Romeo, who paced restlessly only to abruptly sit down and run his hands through his hair, rising the puff-level exponentially.

Jeff and Newt interacted perfectly as the depressed Petrarchan lover and his concerned kinsman, and Thomas felt himself drawn into the high quality of story-telling they provided as he stopped thinking about the blond young man as the one he loved and saw him solely as Romeo for minutes on end. It helped that Newt was the only one speaking in a British accent (he had refused to try to do it in an American accent because “that’s not Shakespeare”), letting Romeo seem even more estranged from his surroundings.

Another perfect pair was played by Sonya and Beth, whose friendship translated fabulously onto the stage, making their interactions funny as well as believable. Beth had great comedic talent, and Thomas was glad to see her and Sonya well-matched, supporting each other well, giving the audience the time to laugh at remarks and not talk over one another, which is a hard thing to practise without any spectators present – they did it perfectly.

When Romeo met his Juliet a few scenes later, the chemistry between the two of them almost felt real, and the young teacher giddily found himself reminded that the look on Newt’s face resembled the one he wore when looking into Thomas’ eyes. Still, it was almost impossible to see them together and not assume that something was going on between them. Upon meeting Juliet, Newt-slash-Romeo walked a circle around her, his eyes wide with awe. With his beautiful shirt and messy hair, the blond looked every bit like the distracted teenager he was playing. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand“, he recited in a voice speaking of wonder and admiration, taking her hand, „This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this.“ Hesitating, he seemed almost shy, and it was beyond adorable. „My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.“ He paused to press a kiss onto her hand, and Sonya blushed perfectly, as if she really were a teenage girl meeting her new crush.

Sonya/Juliet huffed out a breathless laugh, and it was perfect in an embarrassed yet flattered way. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,“ she protested, her voice filled with the same awe as Newt’s. With a couple like Romeo and Juliet it was always dangerous that one half of the pair might seem more infatuated than the other one, but Sonya matched Newt perfectly; she looked just as taken as her partner. She continued, smiling, „Which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.“

The scene progressed, and a few moments later, Romeo leaned in to kiss his Juliet, and while it was slightly weird to see his boyfriend kiss a woman, Thomas couldn’t help but see them as the iconic couple they portrayed, and not as Newt and Sonya. The audience erupted in spontaneous applause as they kissed, which was strictly speaking not appropriate as the scene was still progressing, but it showed Thomas that the two actors had done it with one scene – they had the audience rooting for them. He smiled to himself; their downfall would then hurt them the more. He was excited to witness that.

Shortly afterwards, the famous balcony scene took place; Sonya spent it mostly leaning against the railing while Newt was once again the focus of everyone’s eyes as he incorporated the stage and the various levels of the construction that was the balcony into his passionate accounts about love. He would climb the balcony halfway only to jump back down and exclaim, “It is my lady. Oh, it is my love. Oh, that she knew she were!“ There was something manic about his energy, and it was fascinating to watch him. Newt had completely cast off the lethargy he had played so perfectly before and exchanged it for a euphoric restlessness that worked just as well. It was incredible to watch him, and even thought he acted well with his Juliet, Romeo was the definite star of the scene, even when he was only listening to Juliet’s musings about „Wherefore art thou Romeo?“ It was exciting to witness him make the part his own while still staying faithful to the text. The following exchange between the two leads was almost comical with a concerned-acting Sonya and an almost deliriously happy Newt, shouting „Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me!“ at the top of his lungs. The scene ended on a quieter note, with more kisses and Romeo and Juliet agreeing to get married as soon as possible. This might have appeared silly to some members of the audience, but Sonya and Newt pulled it off, making the decision of two teenagers who had only met twice in one day to spend the rest of their lives together somehow seem not crazy or rushed, but perfectly understandable, which was a real achievement.

 

As someone who knew the play extremely well, Thomas was still not immune to suffering as he watched the story go downhill from the balcony scene onwards. Mercutio’s last speech was as heart-breaking as he had expected from a talented actor like Winston, and Tybald’s death, although it always felt fair to Thomas, still caused him to feel sad; Aris gave a vulnerability to the role that reminded the audience that he, too, was a child of his circumstances, a teenager raised to hate a family for reasons so old nobody could recall them.

The break followed, meaning they would recommence the action with Romeo and Juliet in bed, which was one of Thomas’ favourite scenes. First, however, there were fifteen minutes of intermission, and the applause that followed the lights going back on was not to be dismissed. The audience seemed to be enjoying themselves, and Thomas, even though he tried not to be, was proud of the work not only his students, but also he himself had done.

Brenda blinked over at him. As a reader and his daughter, she was no stranger to the narrative of Romeo and Juliet. “Are you not entertained?” he asked, in his best Russell Crowe impression, and Brenda smiled, shrugging. “It’s just that every time I see a version of this story, I hope they’ll somehow be able to turn it around and have a happy ending.”

Thomas nodded thoughtfully. Of course he knew the feeling; he experienced it himself whenever he watched or read the play – the playful first two acts always managed to get him to subconsciously think it was really a romantic comedy, which made the blow of their deaths the harder when it arrived. But still, there was something beautiful about always being the optimist, always hoping that things would end happily, and Thomas was glad that his daughter had inherited this feeling as well.

“How’s mum?” he asked, and Brenda’s smile vanished.

“She’s okay. I think she somehow saw it coming. She seems very contained.” His daughter looked down at her hands. “Can we maybe have a family conference soon? I really want to know what’s going to happen.”

Thomas nodded. “That’s a good idea, Bren. And of course we’ll still celebrate Christmas together in some way. Maybe at grandma and grandpa’s house?” He looked over at his parents, who had followed their little exchange silently. Brenda also turned, her face alight with hope.

Mrs Edison nodded. “That sounds wonderful! We’d love to have you over – any excuse for me to ask your grandpa to bake!” She grinned and bumped her shoulder into her husband’s, who smiled at her kindly. “Why was I expecting you to say that?”

Thomas smiled at their behaviour; it seemed incredible that they had been together for so long and were still able to joke and be happy with one another. It was time Romeo and Juliet never had. It was time he and Theresa chose not to have. It was time he and Newt would hopefully have.

The rest of the intermission passed with the four of them making Christmas plans, only once interrupted by Newt waving at Thomas from behind the curtain; he was apparently about to take his place onstage early, lying in the bed they had moved to the centre of the stage for a few minutes in order to get that bedhead right.

Brenda sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the mortification of finding my dad’s boyfriend _hot_ ”, she huffed, and she sounded so disgusted that Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure you’ll still like him,” he said. “He’s very creative. I’m certain he’d let you interview him about the play for the school paper.”

That thought sparked her interest. “You think so?” She pondered the possibility for a few seconds. “That would of course be good for my standing within the paper. Apparently, this junior girl asked him about it and he said no.” A slow smile spread across her face. “You think you could arrange that? I might, in that case, rethink how angry I am still with you.”

Her father nodded. “Sure. I promise. And I’ll even keep it.” He smiled at her, and something passed between them – he knew it was not yet peace, not yet the good relationship they’d had for years, not yet the friendship they’d lived for so long – but a beginning of an understanding.

…

The second part began with Romeo and Juliet in bed, and the fact that Newt was only clad in boxer briefs (blue ones, of course, following the colour scheme) got him a few whistles and _oooooh_ s from the audience. The lovers played their – as Thomas knew – last scene together, saying goodbye as Romeo was banished from Verona, and the _Tragedy of Juliet_ , as they had called it during rehearsals, began. Juliet’s scenes beautifully showed how she turns from a naïve girl to a determined young woman who takes fate into her own hands, and Sonya acted them superbly. One could almost feel her pain when she realised that her nurse, Beth, was no longer to be trusted, and her exchange with the friar rang with so much desperation it was almost making Thomas cry.

However, a few scenes later, Newt/Romeo heard of Juliet’s death, and the pain-level was raised again. The way the blond cursed the stars was heart-breaking. Shortly afterwards, they were in the crypt, and Romeo delivered his last speech before killing himself, and Thomas was now actually crying – whether it was because Newt acted so beautifully or because of the narrative, he couldn’t have said, but there was no place he would have rather been at that moment.

Newt was crying too as he looked down at Sonya, pale in her wedding gown. “Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty,“ he declared, his voice heavy with tears, as his hands clutched the vial of poison so strongly that his knuckles turned white. „Thou art not conquered. Beauty’s ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, and death’s pale flag is not advancèd there.“ He continued to praise the beauty of his love, not knowing that she was not actually dead, and it was beautiful and cruel to watch his heartbreak that could have been prevented so easily.

Finally, he downed the poison in one gulp, coughing, and exclaiming, „O true apothecary,  
Thy drugs are quick.“ He pressed a last kiss to Sonya’s lips while holding his stomach, gasping with pain. „Thus with a kiss I die,“ he breathed, sinking down next to his wife of only two days.

What followed was, in Thomas’ opinion, the cruellest moment in the play – Juliet waking up to find her dead husband, and his tears never stopped flowing as Sonya cried over Romeo’s body only to kill herself. The remaining lines belonged to the few cast members that were still alive, and of course Zart, who insisted that there had never been a story of more “than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

There were a few seconds of silence before the applause thundered through the auditorium; people jumped to their feet, screaming, and Thomas could not believe that this was his former high school’s reaction to a classic Shakespeare tragedy. They must have done something very right.

Newt was the first one to jump to his feet, beaming, and extended a hand to pull Sonya up as well. The actors gathered at the edge of the stage, grabbing each other’s hands, bowing, smiling, enjoying their well-deserved applause. They all seemed happy, but nobody’s face was as delighted as Newt’s, who drank in all the cheers, and Thomas wholeheartedly hoped that he would get many moments like this one in his life. He knew he would do anything he could to help make it happen.

The applause lasted for some time, and the actors bowed again, until suddenly, they gestured the audience to sit back down, and Newt had a microphone in his hand. “Thank you so much,” he said, sounding a little bit breathless. “We love this play so much that we couldn’t help but stage it, even though there were some difficulties. We want to thank everybody who made this happen – Coach, I know you said you’d have me fail gym class if I mentioned you, but you were a real sport – pun intended – to help us and we are very thankful to you.” There was applause and cheering, and Thomas saw Minho just at the edge of the stage, shaking his head, trying very hard not to smile. “The same goes for Ms O’Brien, thank you so much for helping us with the music and everything.” Rachel smiled as Beth presented her with flowers, and the audience again communicated their approval.

Newt smiled. Thomas knew what was coming, and he dreaded it. “I know all of you who ever had the joy and privilege to be taught by Mister Edison miss him dearly. But he is here today because he cares about us even though this is not his school any more, and we staged it because we are proud of what he taught us. None of us would have even been able to correctly read iambic pentameter three months ago. So Thomas, we don’t have any flowers for you, but this next applause is only for you – give it up for Mister E, everyone!” And the whole auditorium erupted into clapping while Thomas tried his hardest not to cry; it would have been embarrassing to do so. Even the actors on stage clapped for him. It was easily one of the top ten moments of his life – top five, more like.

Finally, Newt called the audience to order. “That’s it, people, thank you for attending – oh, and I don’t know if you got the memo, but our headmaster didn’t want us to stage this play, so maybe don’t mention it to him.” Laughter surged through the huge room, and then the lights went back on and it was over.

…

Thomas told his daughter he would see her soon, told his parents he would see them at home, and hurried backstage. He clapped on people’s backs, shouted praise, but all he wanted was to see Newt – the wonderful, cheeky bastard. He found him in his dressing room, changing back into a t-shirt, and didn’t leave him any time for words before he kissed him fiercely.

Newt seemed surprised for a split second, but then he kissed him back. They broke apart shortly afterwards for a hug.

“I don’t know how to thank you for any of this,” Thomas whispered as he put his cheek against the blond’s neck. “I really don’t.”

Newt’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to. I’d do way more for you than stage a play. That’s love.” It sounded so simple when he put it like that.

“I love you too.” Thomas returned to an upright position. “I hate watching you die onstage.”

The blond laughed. “That’s weirdly sweet,” he said, smiling. “The others want to get pizza. Are you coming? I’m sure they’d love it.” He took Thomas’ hand. “I know I would.”

Pizza sounded like a great idea. “Sure. I depend on you anyway, car-wise. I can’t get back home unless you drive me.”

Newt grinned. “Well, then I’ll either never bring you back or I’ll have to stay with you. It’s Christmas break now. I intend to spend as much time with you as I possibly can.”

Thomas smiled. “Sounds perfect to me.”

He waited for Newt to get his things, and then they joined the other actors. Everybody was positively surprised to see that he hadn’t left already, and happy to take their ex-drama teacher with them for their celebratory late dinner. He even held Newt’s hand on the way out. It felt daring at first, but nobody gave them weird looks or commented on it, and so it became easier by the minute until Thomas felt perfectly comfortable. They stayed at the restaurant until the owner asked them to leave, joking and talking about how great the play had been, and it was long after midnight when the two of them finally got into Newt’s car.

Newt put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it. “Stay at mine?” he asked, and even though his tone was casual, he knew his answer meant a lot to the young man.

Thomas smiled. “I’d love to.”

Newt’s mother had the decency of being already asleep, and so they had no inhibitions to kiss in the hallway and, once they were finally in Newt’s bedroom, let all their clothes fall to the floor and make love. It had been a while, and Thomas had forgotten how starved he was for the feeling of Newt’s skin against his. They had usually hurried through the motions of it, but now they took their time, kissing slowly, enjoying the fact that they didn’t have to feel guilty anymore, didn’t have to hide anymore.

Afterwards, Newt played with Thomas’ hair, smiling down at him. “Did you have a good day, my love?” he asked, and there was so much love in his voice that it was almost too much.

The young teacher nodded. “It turned out much better than expected,” he said, reaching up to pull Newt into another kiss. Even though he sort of dreaded the morning, meeting his ex-student’s mother over breakfast, there was no way he would let that ruin this perfect moment. Because after all they’d been through, this evening was a real gift. They were together. Brenda was sort of on board to mend their relationship completely. And they had managed to stage their play. While there were still plenty of things that weren’t perfect in Thomas’ life – this evening sort of was. And he was immensely grateful for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,  
> I want to wholeheartedly apologise for making you wait so long - if anybody is even still reading this, please forgive me for not updating. I can say in my defense that I graduated from university and now have a Masters' Degree, I hope that's a good enough reason for not writing.  
> So... What do you say to the play? I had trouble writing this chapter because I didn't know how much Shakespeare you would enjoy (I obviously want all the Shakespeare all the time, but then I'm not normal) - I hope the compromise works for everyone.  
> What now? Do you want Christmas with the Edisons? A meeting with Newt's mum? A family conference with Teresa? I'm open to suggestions, it's the least I can do ;)  
> Thank you so much for being awesome!  
> Loads of love to all of you xxx


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family conference and a Christmas lunch take place.

Thomas woke up to the sound of Newt humming a tune he vaguely recognised to be a British Christmas carol. He opened his eyes and saw his boyfriend sitting next to him, wearing a sweater with a huge Christmas tree on it as well as tartan pyjama bottoms, smiling at him. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” the blond cheerfully exclaimed. “Time for breakfast with the in-law!”

Thomas sat up so quickly his head spun for a few seconds. “What?!” he demanded, panic obvious in his voice. “Your mum wants to have breakfast with us?”

Newt furrowed his brows. “Of course she does, I’m her son and you’re her son’s manfriend.” The blond shook his head, smiling to himself. “No reason to be upset. She’s making a full English, so you’re in for a treat. Now, get up!”

Thomas groaned. “Not before you kiss me!”

His boyfriend playfully rolled his eyes, but then complied, leaning in for a number of sweet good-morning kisses. Then he gently bit Thomas’ nose. “Better?”

Now it was the brunet’s turn to playfully roll his eyes. “Let’s go have breakfast before you eat me instead.” He got out of bed, shivering in his boxers. “Can I borrow some clothes? Not that sweater, though, it’s hideous.”

Newt’s eyes turned wide. “No insulting the Christmas jumper!” he shrieked, and Thomas laughed at so much acting that early in the morning – was that what it was going to be like from now on? Thomas wouldn’t have minded. He caught the pyjama bottoms and t-shirt that the blond threw him and quickly put them on, adding his own socks. A quick glance in the mirror showed that he had a massive case of bedhead on his shoulders, but he didn’t really know what to do about it, so he just let it be.

Newt grinned at him. “I like the hair. It’s cute. Makes you look 27.”

Thomas laughed. “Ouch. Thanks, babe.” He was still nervous, though, and Newt seemed to notice because he grabbed his hand and lead him out of the room and down the stairs.

The dining room smelled of coffee and fried meat, and Thomas was relieved to see that Newt’s mother, despite the fact that the table was practically groaning under the weight of baked beans, scrambled eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes and other delicacies, was still in her pyjamas as well, seemingly promoting a football club called AFC Wimbledon. She was reading the newspaper, so it took her a second to realise someone had joined her.

“Morning, mum,” Newt said, even though all three of them knew that he had been downstairs just minutes before. “Look, a man snuck in last night and tried to steal me, but my bed was too comfortable.”

Thomas blushed, but Mrs Isaac seemed to enjoy her son’s humour, judging from the way she giggled. “Good morning, Newton. And good morning, Mister Edison.” She put away the paper to get up and shake his hand. “I hope you are hungry.”

“Please, call me Thomas,” the young teacher insisted. “I am, thank you.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s good, because I am notorious for cooking too much. Sit down, you two. Tea, Thomas? Eggs? Beans? Also, I insist you call me Kate.”

He nodded, his head buzzing from so many questions so shortly after waking up. “Thank you… Kate. I’ll try it all.”

Newt’s mother nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit, my lad.” And she continued heaving food onto a plate for him while Newt smiled at him encouragingly, handing him a mug of tea. A few moments later, they were all sitting comfortably at the table, food in front of them, and Thomas began to relax as Newt embarked on a monologue about how much fun the play had been and his mother interrupted him constantly to tell him how amazing he had been. The young teacher listened, smiling and eating. The breakfast was amazing, just what he needed on this morning that somehow felt like a totally new beginning.

Kate seemed to notice his mood. “You’ve got everything you need, Thomas?”

He nodded, unable to politely answer, as he was currently chewing, and Newt’s mother smiled. “Good. Let me just say this one thing. I know you’re still married, and while you’re not a permanently cheating wanker like Newt’s father but someone who happened to find true love while involved with someone else, I would officially like to declare that I will kill you if you break my son’s heart.”

“Mum!” Newt exclaimed, his face a mask of horror and shock. “Stop it!”

Thomas waved his protests away. “It’s alright, Newt,” he said, his voice calm. “I know I’ve wronged a lot of people, and I’ll try to do better in the future. I know our relationship started out with a lie to the world, but I always did my best to be true to Newt. And I will continue to do that, for as long as he wants me to.” Only now he dared to look away from Newt, who seemed to be both embarrassed and moved, and at his mother, who appeared to be very serious, but somewhat satisfied.

“Good,” she said, and then she smiled. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. Do you care for something sweet, Thomas? We have carrot cake in the fridge. Newt made it.”

Newt shook his head. “Mum, you’re absolutely impossible!” He seemed genuinely mortified.

Kate gave him a sharp look. “You’re looking out for me, I’m looking out for you. That was our deal. So deal with it.” She grinned. “See what I did there?”

Thomas laughed while Newt groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’d love some carrot cake, thank you.”

Somehow he had a feeling that he would get on very well with his new mother-in-law, even though technically, she could have been his elder sister.

…

After a much too large breakfast and a long shower (long because Newt was in there with him), Thomas decided to call Teresa and see whether she wanted to talk. Since it was only three days to Christmas Day, she would of course be busy, but maybe she would be okay arranging something for the holidays so he could at least see the kids. So he asked Newt for some privacy, and sat on his bed while his boyfriend went downstairs. He dialled the number (or, you know, clicked at her picture in his contacts. Was there even a new word for this kind of process yet?).

She picked up after only two rings. “Thomas. What’s up?” She didn’t sound too friendly, but also not too harsh, so that was good.

“Hi Tess. I was wondering if we could meet up and talk.” Hardly his most inspired words ever, but why beat around the bush?

She was quiet for a few seconds. “Alright, sure, why not. I’m not gonna lie, Tom, it’s very hard and I’m not doing too well. I’d be very glad if we could find some arrangement for the holidays. I need to get my work done and the kids need their dad.” 

It was bittersweet to see that now she realised how much she really needed him. But he wasn’t going to rub it in – he was happy to talk to her in a civilised manner.

“I could be at the house in thirty minutes,” he suggested, and again it was quiet for a few seconds before Teresa agreed to his suggestion. “Yeah, why not. I’m home anyway.”

Thomas confirmed he’d be there soon and ended the call. Then he grabbed his things and went downstairs to find Newt in the kitchen, flipping through a baking book, potentially looking for a Christmas dessert (“It’s PUDDING, Tommy, not dessert, you weirdo!”).

He pulled the blond into a hug, and as Newt smiled a happy, content little smile, the young teacher felt that he was falling just a little bit deeper in love with him.

“I have to go stop by the house,” he said, his fingers drawing circles on Newt’s back. “I want to get it out of the way and talk to Teresa about Christmas. I guess I’ll be celebrating with the kids at my parents’ house.” He took a deep breath. “Would you like to come as well?”

The blond seemed disappointed that Thomas was about to leave, but he smiled at the question. “I’d love that. Mum’s working day shift so we can have our traditional Christmas breakfast, so I’d love to have some company for lunch. Do you think your mum would be offended if I brought some pudding?”

Thomas smiled. “Not at all,” he answered, putting his forehead against Newt’s. “She already likes you. This will only further improve her opinion of you.”

His boyfriend grinned. “Pudding it is.”

Thomas said his goodbyes to Newt’s mother, already wishing her a very merry Christmas (“It’s HAPPY, Tommy, not merry, you weirdo!”), and then Newt walked him to the door. “Are you sure you want to walk? I could drive you. It’s really nippy out,” the blond said, rubbing his arms as he tentatively looked out the front door.

His boyfriend shook his head. “I’m fine, a walk will do me good. I’d appreciate a drive later, though.”

Newt nodded. “Not a spot of bother,” he smiled, sounding more British than usual, and Thomas grinned before kissing him once or twice (or seventeen times) and briskly walking away through the freezing morning air.

He arrived at his house twenty minutes later, and Teresa opened the door for him only seconds after he’d rung the bell. She looked tired, not that that was out of the ordinary, and she’d donned her business outfit for yoga pants and a hoodie.

“Hi, Tom,” she greeted him listlessly, but before she could even finish, a tiny meteor had shot through the hallway and into Thomas’ arms.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Chuck squealed. “I missed you so much!” The little boy seemed utterly delighted to see him, and Thomas couldn’t help but swallow down a few tears.

“Hello, my young padawan,” he greeted him (mostly because the boy was in his Star Wars pyjamas), “I’ve missed you too. Did you help mummy, like you promised?”

“I did,” Chuck exclaimed, “Me and Brenda always took care of the dishes, and I put all my Legos away.” He seemed to be immensely proud of his achievements.

“That’s my boy!” Thomas pressed a kiss to his son’s cheek before looking over his head at Teresa, who was staring at them with a curious mixture of pain and joy on her face. “Family conference?”

She studied his face for a few moments before nodding. “I’ll get the coffee, you’ll get the food, and Chuck, you’ll get Brenda.”

The two Edison boys nodded and went off to do as they’d been told. 

…

There wasn’t much in the pantry in terms of breakfast foods, but they always had pop tarts at home, anyway, so Thomas toasted a bunch of them to go with the coffee and hot chocolate (in Chuck’s case) they had. Nobody was actually drinking, but it was always helpful to nurse a mug containing some sort of steaming liquid when important things were about to be discussed, Thomas thought, and so he had introduced the ritual of drinking coffee or hot chocolate (in Chuck’s case) at family conferences years ago.

The young teacher tried to catch his wife’s eye, the way he had always done when they’d had to break some important or difficult news to their children, but Teresa didn’t comply. The realisation that she was no longer his partner in crime as far as raising their kids was concerned hit him. Suddenly it wasn’t mum and dad vs. the kids. Suddenly it was mum vs. dad, with the kids possibly taking one side or the other. It felt lonely not to belong to a team anymore. He forced himself to take a deep breath, looking at the marshmallows floating in Chuck’s mug.

“Okay so, kids, you know that we – that I, “ he corrected himself, not wanting to shift any of the blame towards Teresa, “moved out. Not because I don’t love you guys anymore, because you two are the most important thing to me in the whole wide world, but because mum and I… It doesn’t work anymore.” He felt Teresa’s gaze on him. He continued, “I’ve got a new partner – Brenda knew this already, Chuck,” he said, looking at his son, who wore a quizzical expression on his face. It was quiet for a few moments.

“Does that mean I get a second mummy?” the little boy asked, looking up at Thomas with his huge eyes that were so much like his own. He didn’t seem too sad – Teresa and Brenda had likely prepared him for this possibility – he actually seemed excited in a shy way.

Thomas gulped while Brenda snorted with laughter. He still couldn’t meet Teresa’s gaze. “Well… If you want to put it that way… More of a daddy, actually.” He held his breath, anxious how his son would react.

But Chuck only smiled. “Oh, that’s nice,” he said, stirring his hot chocolate. “Magnus Merrell at school also has two daddies and one mummy.” And then he took a sip from his mug.

Thomas could only stare, nothing more.

Then, Brenda exploded with laughter, sounding almost hysterical, while her father continued to stare at the little boy. The room was quiet except for Chuck’s slurping and his sister’s roaring fit of amusement.

Brenda wiped away her tears. “Oh gosh dad, your face… Ugh that’s priceless.” She kept giggling merrily, while her brother looked at her, confused. “Did I say something funny?” he asked, in a voice so innocent that Brenda’s neighing laughter continued until Teresa finally had enough, saying, “Come now, Brenda, calm down. We need to discuss what we’ll do about Christmas.” She had been serious throughout the whole conversation so far – the whole endeavour was obviously very important to her.

Thomas nodded, trying to be the supportive soon-to-be-ex-husband he planned on being. “Yes, kids, I thought maybe you wanted to come celebrate with me at grandma’s and grandpa’s?”

That elicited cheers from both his children.

The young teacher looked over at his still-wife. “You’re welcome, too, of course, Tess.”

Teresa shrugged. “I really need to work. I’ll see if I’m in the mood and be spontaneous if that’s okay.” Thomas nodded. Of course it was okay for her to do as she pleased.

She continued, “I was thinking of dropping them off on the Christmas Eve so they can stay over and celebrate with you guys. After that, I’d really appreciate it if you could spend as many days as possible looking after Chuck – I’ll be at work anyway, so I don’t mind having you here.” She didn’t sound like she didn’t mind, though – it was like Teresa still wasn’t sure whether she should just mindlessly despise him or be nice to him as he was her best babysitter. Not that Thomas wouldn’t have understood both sentiments. It was just as weird for him to sit here and wonder whether he should miss her or not.

Still, he agreed to take care of the children’s wellbeing whenever Teresa needed him to. After all, he loved being Dad – it was being Husband that had gotten exhausting and unrewarding.

They quickly wrapped up discussing the details of when Thomas would pick up the children on the 24th because Teresa had a conference call coming up, and since he was trying to be a good dad, he also volunteered to quickly shop some groceries. Both children suggested to come with him, and as they strolled through the aisles, debating whether to make spaghetti or curry for lunch, it almost felt like Before, and Thomas was glad to realise that his kids, at least, would come round to the idea of having a dad who didn’t live at home but who still loved them.

It was a start.

…

Thomas woke very early on Christmas Day as his son, who had refused to sleep anywhere else than Daddy’s bed, started jumping on the bed, trying to get his father to wake up and check out his presents. It was unknown whether Chuck still believed in Santa, but he certainly had been ardent about leaving him milk and cookies the night before, which Brenda had gladly indulged in.

So it was six a.m. on Christmas morning, and Thomas found himself in bed with his son and his brand-new Lego Star Wars Resistance X-Wing Fighter, which Chuck had made him praise for a whole five minutes before he had allowed him to go back to a state of near-sleep while the little boy recited what dialogue he remembered from the movie while trying to build the ship, nudging his father whenever he moved so he wouldn’t disturb the lego ship coming into existence.

It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but then again Thomas was glad Chuck was only building the spaceship, not watching the movie next to him, because, as he well knew, the Blu-ray could also be found in Chuck’s stocking.

He dozed for another hour and a half until Chuck was frustrated and requested his father’s help in assembling the space ship and stealing the plans for the Death Star. So Thomas helped his son until both their stomachs were growling and it was time for breakfast.

The remaining Christmas morning was a lazy affair spent eating waffles and watching the latest Star Wars movie, which Chuck had eventually discovered in his stocking. The turkey was in the oven, sporadically guarded by Mr Edison senior who had not yet seen the said Star Wars movie and was more interested in the plans for the Death Star than their lunch, a fact that Mrs Edison wasn’t too happy with as she prepared the side dishes. Thus, Mr Edison was regularly summoned to the kitchen while Chuck watched the movie sitting approximately two feet away from the TV on the floor, completely hooked, and every ten minutes chastised by his father to sit further back. Thomas was lounging on the couch, comfortable in sweatpants and a hoodie, half-watching Jyn save the galaxy, half-reading a book on the best bookshops in the world featuring beautiful pictures which his father had given him; Brenda was busy setting up her new iPad, downloading apps and taking selfies (ironically).

The crew of the Rogue One was just about to launch into their last big battle when the doorbell sounded and Thomas jumped off the couch and hurried to the door.

Upon pulling it open, he found his boyfriend on the doormat, snowflakes glistening in his unruly blond hair, his eyes just as bright, his cheeks pink from the cold. He was carrying a tote bag that seemed to be filled with several wrapped gifts, which was slung over his shoulder, and a covered cake tin, which seemed to contain the dessert, pardon, pudding for their Christmas lunch. Additionally, a backpack was slung over his other shoulder, making Newt appear to be one of Santa’s personal reindeers.

“Happy Christmas!” he beamed at Thomas, pressing his cool lips to his, a gesture that was everything but cool. “Be a good boyfriend and take this.” And he shoved the cake tin into Thomas’ hands, who just grinned and stepped aside to let Newt into the house, helping him out of his coat while balancing the cake. A different Christmassy sweater appeared under Newt’s coat, this one featuring dancing snowmen. It was just as ghastly as the other one, but Thomas didn’t say so, and instead told Newt how happy he was about him being here.

Newt grinned and shook his hair out of his eyes. “Thanks for inviting me. Now, I’d love to put the cake in the fridge – it’s chocolate truffle, and I’d hate for the icing to melt and look ugly.” He took the cake once again, leaving the bag of presents by the door, but taking his backpack, and followed Thomas into the kitchen.

Both of his parents were there – peeling potatoes and stirring sauces – but when the two young men entered, all four of their eyes were on Newt.

“Newt!” Mrs Edison exclaimed, stepping away from the stove to kiss his cheeks, “It’s so lovely to see you again!”

Newt smiled broadly. “Thank you for inviting me,” he beamed, shaking Mr Edison’s hand. “As promised, I brought some cake for dessert. I’ve also made scones and clotted cream and brought some jam – what’s Christmas without tea?” While saying this, he was pulling containers out of his backpack, handing all of them to Thomas and his father. “I hope that was alright,” he added rather timidly, and the young teacher could have kissed him for being so extremely adorable.

Thomas’ mother looked like she was about to swoon. “That’s so lovely of you, thank you!” she exclaimed, and it was obvious that she meant it, which in turn made Newt blush. He looked around the kitchen, and Thomas felt a bit self-conscious of what he was seeing: a handsome but well-worn wooden kitchen, pictures of him at all stages of his life as well as his kids, drawings Chuck had made for his grandparents. It was a family kitchen, and Newt was the New Boy, the outsider. Thomas hoped he wouldn’t feel that way.

However, Newt didn’t seem to feel self-conscious being confronted with Thomas’ past. He excused himself for a second and came back with two wrapped presents, handing one to each of Thomas’ parents. “Thank you for letting me be part of today,” he said, smiling his shy half-smile. “I know it must be a turbulent time in all our lives, and I’m just happy to be here.”

Mr Edison smiled the warm smile he normally only reserved for his own little boy. “Oh son, you’re so very welcome,” he said, and Thomas saw that Newt’s breath caught at the word “son”, and he remembered that his own father probably never talked to him that way.

Thomas’ mother smiled warmly. “You still absolutely shouldn’t have,” she said, unwrapping her gift. “Oh, those are adorable!” she exclaimed, seeing that Newt had got her a set of teachers’ rubber stamps to go under her pupil’s homework, featuring bees and dogs and phrases like “Way to go!” and “Good job!” “Thank you so much, Newt!”

The blond boy smiled. “You’re very welcome,” he said. “Our primary school teacher used to have those, and I went crazy if I didn’t get a Good Job under my homework.” They exchanged warm smiles, and Thomas couldn’t help but mentally congratulate himself on having such a thoughtful boyfriend.

“Oh, how wonderful!” Mr Edison Senior commented as he opened his own gift a few seconds later. “This is beautiful, Newt! Thank you!” Thomas leaned in to see that he had received a book on English gardens, complete with stunning pictures – Newt had obviously remembered both his parents’ profession and shopped accordingly. 

“You’re very welcome,” Newt said again, beaming. He looked at Thomas in an expectant sort of way. “Now, do I get to meet the kids?”

Thomas nodded, dragging a hand through his hair. “Sure, they are watching the new Star Wars movie.”

“What?! Why didn’t you say? I love Star Wars!”

Thomas’ parents laughed as Newt disappeared out the door in search of the living room, Thomas walking after him, shaking his head and grinning to himself. While he was nervous about Brenda’s reaction, he couldn’t help but have fun and be happy that his quirky boyfriend had joined them for their Christmas celebrations.

Thomas stood by the door, watching the spectacle unfold before his eyes. Brenda had looked up from her ipad and was watching Newt in a quizzical sort of way. However, her façade seemed to be fading fast as Newt approached her with an especially pretty-looking package featuring an enormous bowtie and one of his most dazzling smiles.

“Happy Christmas, Brenda,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek and hand her the parcel. “I hope you’ll have fun with this.” He uprighted himself again. “And about that interview – would after lunch be okay with you?”

Thomas could see that Brenda was doing her best to seem cool and annoyed, but the truth was, she had crushed on this guy, and maybe still did a bit, and he was being perfectly nice and charming to her and behaving in a way that would help her advance in her quest to take over the school paper. It was hard to totally disapprove of Newt when he was being his charming self.

“Sure,” she said in a hesitating manner. “Thanks for… Whatever this is.” She nodded at the package in her lap.

Newt laughed. “Well, you’ll see once you open it.” He looked down. “Well, hello there!”

Chuck had been standing in front of the blond boy for the last thirty seconds and staring up at him intently. “Who are you? Are you my dad’s boyfriend?”

Newt glanced over at Thomas, mouthing “He’s cute!”, before turning back to Chuck. “Yes, I am,” he said, holding out his hand. “And who are you?”

“I am Chuck, and you need to be quiet now because the rebels are about to steal the plans for the Death Star!”

“Chuck!” Thomas chastised, but Newt waved it away. “That’s okay, I understand that that’s important, Chuck. Can I watch with you?” Chuck nodded waved Newt to sit down next to him. Seconds later, they were both immersed in the plot shown on screen.

Thomas sighed and sat down next to Brenda, who had unwrapped the gift Newt had given her – it was a book with 101 creative writing prompts, and the girl was already studying it intently. Thomas shook his head to himself – it seemed that his boyfriend knew exactly how to handle his family.

…

The lunch passed in a very enjoyable manner – everybody seemed to want to talk to Newt, except Brenda, but she didn’t seem upset in any way; she was just enjoying the turkey so much that she put her priorities on stuffing her face (or that’s what she told Thomas in a low voice between bites). Chuck was basically in love with Newt, who had given him a book with good night stories for little Jedi, and asked his opinion on every single character in the Star Wars universe, and made him promise to read one of them to him that night, which Newt happily agreed to.

It took hours for the two of them to have a few minutes together – after the delicious cake Newt had made, Brenda insisted on interviewing him for a full forty minutes on everything remotely related to their theatre performance, which made Thomas giggle so hard that his daughter banned him from the living room, making him help his father with the dishes.

“You seem happy,” his father said to him, handing him a dishtowel. “More so than I’ve seen you in years.”

And it felt good to be able to tell his father, “I am. Truly.”

Afterwards, there was a lot of playing with Legos and eating scones and watching the Star Wars movie for a second time because Mr Edison had missed the entire last forty minutes and a few crucial scenes in between, and Thomas sat there with his arm around Newt and his son climbing onto his lap whenever an important bit was coming, and even though he thought more than once that his son was getting too heavy for this sort of seating arrangements, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

It was almost ten when they had finally put Chuck to bed (Newt was astonishingly good at the whole reading-and-talking-and-making-the-little-kid-sleepy-routine) and excused themselves to retire to Thomas’ old room. Newt took a while to examine it, reading the book titles and looking at posters of movies that were now considered classics.

“You know, I’ve actually never seen Fight Club,” he mused, saying something Thomas wouldn’t have expected him to say.

“What?!” Thomas threw himself on the bed, patting the space next to him. “How is that a thing? I’d force you to watch it right now if it were only slightly more Christmassy. Also, I really want to kiss you and give you your present. Not necessarily in the order.” But Newt sat down next to him and, with a kiss, decided the order.

Some time later, Newt grabbed the last wrapped gift from his bag and, without further ado, handed it to Thomas. “I know it’s not very creative,” he said, “but I think you’ll see why I like it.” The young teacher took it and, impatient as he was, tore the wrapping while Newt tsked playfully.

It was a framed picture of the two of them, taken at the pizzeria where they had eaten after their triumphant staging of Romeo & Juliet. Someone had likely worked some Photoshop magic on it because Thomas didn’t recall the light to be that perfect at the restaurant, but what really mattered was the way the two of them looked at one another in the picture – staring at each other, smiling at each other, looking as if there was nothing more important in the world than the other one. Newt had his hand on Thomas’ shoulder, and they were both completely unaware of being photographed. It was the perfect picture, and it couldn’t have been more perfect if they had staged it.

Thomas felt tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. He looked up at his boyfriend, who was watching his reaction. “Damn it, Newt, everything I give you now will be stupid.” They both laughed at this.

However, it didn’t turn out to be true.

“A hotel reservation for the Ritz in New York?!” Newt looked so excited Thomas could have giggled at his expression.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you go to that Juilliard audition alone, did you?” The young teacher smiled at his boyfriend, who was obviously both delighted and worried. “But Tommy, that’s too much!”

Thomas shrugged. “I may or may not know someone there. Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of. You’re going to rock that audition and then we’ll spend a beautiful day in New York. We could also go shopping for flats.”

Newt stared at him. “You… You wanna come to New York with me?”

The brunet nodded. “Of course I do. I mean, I’ll have to take Chuck on quite a few weekends. But I think I want a fresh start, maybe even a new career. I’ve always wanted my own bookstore. I don’t know. Suddenly, so much feels possible.” He smiled at Newt, whose turn it was now to have tears in his eyes. “I love you, Newt.”

The blond hiccupped in a ridiculously cute way. “I love you too, Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> sorry for the late update - I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I couldn't put that much work in because my big brother got married yesterday but didn't want to keep you waiting <3  
> So I hope I fulfilled your wishes :)  
> Read you soon - I promise to be quicker this time!  
> xoxo


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where our star-crossed lovers really aren't star-crossed anymore.

„I can’t believe it!“ Newt flunked himself down on the bed, his shoes still on his feet, and grinned up at Thomas. „We’ve got our own flat! In Brooklyn! I feel like Captain freaking America!“

Thomas laughed at that. With his British accent and lanky frame, Newt couldn’t have been further from Captain America. “What does that make me, Bucky Barnes?”

Newt grinned. “You’ve got the right hair colour, all right, but we need to work on your nineties look.”

It was late on their moving in day and their belongings were still in chaos. Still, Thomas was tempted to join Newt on the bed, to just take five minutes to enjoy a moment that he would have daily from now on, so he sat the box of books he was currently holding down on the floor and threw himself down onto the mattress next to Newt. They were both quiet, looking up at the ceiling of their two-bedroom apartment.

“It’s quite dark,” Thomas stated stupidly; and really, their new home wasn’t anywhere near as luxurious as the architect-designed house he had lived in for almost all of the past decade. It was rather small, because New York prices, it had no balcony and a tiny bathroom. At least the kitchen was decent – both of them had decided together that they’d rather have space to cook and bake together than a bathtub.

Newt turned his head to smile at Thomas. “It doesn’t matter in the bedroom, I think,” he said optimistically. “Also, I’ll put fairy lights up – they’ll give the room a warm glow.” His eyes shone happily at the thought, and Thomas, despite thinking that fairy lights would have been more appropriate in Brenda’s room, nodded. Why not try it, he thought. After all, up until now, Newt had only brought light into his life.

The last nine months had been a rollercoaster of events. Between finding a job, Newt auditioning and getting accepted to study Drama at Juilliard, looking for an apartment, filing for divorce and finding an Au Pair to take care of Chuck, Thomas had hardly had any time to reflect on his feelings about all the changes his life was going through. Still, despite all the hardships and tears shed throughout the past months, he felt that it had been an important year, maybe the most important one of his whole life. He knew he had made a mess of everything, but he had taken care of it, made sure that his children and now ex-wife were looked after, that his boyfriend and he had an apartment, that they had jobs to support themselves. 

Teresa seemed to be doing fine whenever he saw her, as fine as she could be with the project of the hospital still keeping her more than busy.

Chuck was absolutely in love with his Spanish Au Pair, Maria. It was also good for Brenda, as Maria, upon finding out that the girl took Spanish, refused to speak to her in English except in emergency situations, and Brenda’s language competence was rapidly improving. They had still been sad when Thomas had come a few days ago to pick up most of his things (he would keep his office so he could have a place to stay when he was in town to watch the kids), but he had promised his children that he would take them onto fun family days in the big city, which had consoled them at least somewhat.

Newt’s mother was thrilled by her son studying at such a renown university, and even his father had expressed his pride in an awkward phone call, promising to help his son out financially. Between the two of them supporting their son, Newt could pay his part of the rent and even live frugally; he was still looking into getting a part time job at a coffee shop so he could work flexibly and earn a few bucks himself to make his life more comfortable and financially secure.

As for Thomas, he had got a job at a high school in Brooklyn; the pupils there would surely be different from the small town kids he was used to, but he liked a challenge. Plus, the colleagues had seemed exceptionally nice at the staff meeting, and thrilled to have a new member who knew about theatre and whose boyfriend was soon to study drama. Thomas could see himself giving workshops with Newt, and he was excited to help his future pupils unleash their creative potential.

“You know, I never thought I would ever end up in a flat in Brooklyn with a boyfriend, recreating a Captain America fanfic,” Thomas said thoughtfully, “hash tag Stucky.”

Newt chuckled. “It’s been a pretty wild year, hasn’t it?” He glanced over at Thomas, looking amused.

The teacher nodded. “You can say that again.”

The blond blew a strand of hair out of his eye. “When I first met you, I’d never thought this could be anything more than just a casual shag in the staff room. I’m glad I was wrong.” He leaned in to kiss Thomas, but the brunet stopped him. “You thought I was gonna – what were your words – casually shag you in the staff room?” It was the first time he’d ever heard about this train of thought.

Newt grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that, apparently. Also, please don’t use British slang, it’s cringe-worthy.” He took the opportunity of Thomas’ annoyed frowning to plant a tender kiss on his lips. Thomas huffed, but didn’t protest otherwise. He couldn’t come up with a better insult than “Yo mama’s cringe-worthy”, which sounded very Brooklyn already, but he didn’t use it. Instead he just sat up. “Come on, babe, loads to unpack,” he said, holding out his hand to Newt, who smiled and took it.

“All right, Tommy,” he agreed. “And then we should look for the best Thai food delivery place this neighbourhood has to offer.” The blond pointed at the box of books. “I’m gonna get started on unpacking them.” He made to bend down, but before he could grab the box, he seemed to change his mind, grasped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. “And since we’ve got our own flat now, I’m gonna do it shirtless.” With a mischievous grin and a box full of books, he disappeared into the living room.

Thomas stared after him. For some reason, Romeo und Juliet came to mind. If Juliet had received the letter, could she have lived with her true love in a different city, the way Thomas and his personal Romeo now did?

He shook his head slightly. There was no way of telling. But it seemed as if their own stars had realigned themselves into a favourable pattern. The description “star-crossed” really was in the past now.

Thomas pulled his own shirt over his head, grinning to himself. Maybe they would unpack the books shirtless and stack them in perfect alphabetical order. Or maybe they would make love for the first time in their new home, surrounded by full boxes, and then order takeout. Both options sounded just fine to him as long as he got to do them with Newt. And thanks to their bravery and the commitment to each other, it could be like this every day for the rest of their lives if they wanted.

That sounded pretty damn great if you asked him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friends, I'm back!  
> I'm sorry for being MIA for so long, the truth is that life hasn't been that easy since finishing college, but now I've decided to be my own hero and ignore all those people who thought I would fail.  
> However, I've kind of lost my motivation for this fic, and since our boys are happy and together anyway, I've decided to end it with a short epilogue.  
> BUT.  
> Starting today, I'm writing a new Newtmas, and it'll be told from Newt's perspective - haven't had that in a long time, now, have we :D  
> So watch out for that one if you're still with me, and again I'm very sorry to have let you down by not posting anything (I did post a Scorbus fic, but I'm not sure you ship that, so it doesn't count).  
> See you soon and loads of love xxx

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters; however, I love them dearly.  
> Also, English isn't my native language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes I might make.  
> I'd love for you to talk to me, so either comment or find me on tumblr (my url is nerdylovelyme)! :)  
> Loads of love xx


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